


When your lover

by JAinsel



Series: Got prompts? [5]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Blood, Dubious Consent, Ian is an ATF agent, M/M, Mickey's with someone else, Non-Linear Narrative, Underage Sex, Violence, an Irish Warlord, happy ending because they fucking deserve it, raid, sidepiece!Mickey, undercover agent!Ian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-07-15 12:14:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7221946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JAinsel/pseuds/JAinsel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you have time can you consider working on a prompt where Mickey is a kept boy/sidepiece of a mob boss that Ian works for? Coz I hv read a few fanfics with Ian being the sidepiece and I really want to see a role reversal!!! Plz keep writing Gallavich fics even if you're not interested in this prompt coz they are my only solace right now!!"</p><p>...Well, it became a multichapter lmao</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When your lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you have time can you consider working on a prompt where Mickey is a kept boy/sidepiece of a mob boss that Ian works for? Coz I hv read a few fanfics with Ian being the sidepiece and I really want to see a role reversal!!! Plz keep writing Gallavich fics even if you're not interested in this prompt coz they are my only solace right now!!"

When your lover is also someone's lover, things are complicated. When your lover is a Irish warlord’ side piece, in whose organization you're working as a handyman but in reality you're an undercover ATF agent… well, things are a lot more complicated.

Ian observed his secret lover slouching on the couch with another man, Mickey’s actual boyfriend Declan. From an outsider’s perspective it could almost seem like a nice, loving scene; a couple cuddling while watching tv. But Ian knew better. He'd seen the bruises on Mickey’s skin, on his whole left side, caused by Declan’s kicking. His black eye was almost faded, but Ian remembered pressing cold ice packs against it.

Now instead Declan was in a good mood and he'd pour Mickey with affection and care. Mickey was smiling softly, wearing the new watch his boyfriend gave him.

Ian wanted to puke, he felt sick just by looking at them. Because he knew the peace wouldn't last and Mickey would get hurt. Then it'd be Ian's turn to soothe Mickey’s pain away with sweet kisses and words of love. Because Ian loved so much that broken man who couldn't believe to be worthy of such feeling.

It was all Declan’s fault.

“The fuck are you staring at, Curtis?” Declan spat, not even bothering turning his head at his direction. But Mickey did and his blue eyes said it all. He wanted Ian to calm down, keep his cover and not do anything to put himself in danger. So Ian sighed.

“Nothin’, boss. Just need to make a call to my girlfriend. Need me or can I leave for a sec?”

The blond man waved with a hand and Ian took it as a hint, leaving the room. He punched a wall as soon as he wasn't in sight. “Dammit!”

He hated that he couldn't touch Mickey, be with him openly and freely. When he'd gone undercover he'd known it would've been hard, but he'd never expected to fall in love so bad, with his target's sidepiece nonetheless.

Man, he needed a cigarette.

He went out on the balcony and lit one up, also grabbing his phone to call his girlfriend. AKA his real boss at the ATF. He knew he wasn't supposed to call him, but he dialed the number anyway.

“You're kidding me, right?” Dallas answered on the other line. 

“I know, I know. But you told me to keep you updated, right?”

“Not on the fucking phone!”

Ian raised his gaze up to the starry sky. He'd usually find it comforting, but not this time.

“What if I get a witness? One very close to Declan,” Ian said thinking of Mickey. And then of those nasty bruises on his so pale body.

“Witnesses are often unreliable. They get scared, they get paid off. Or they could have some sort of vendetta and ruin everything we've built with false information,” Dallas reminded.

“Yeah, I'm aware. But this one is good,” the redhead insisted.

There was a pause, then Dallas spoke again, with curiosity. “And who that may be?”

Ian bit his lip. He'd expected that question, but he didn't know how his boss would've taken the answer. “It's Mickey. Declan’s sidepiece.”

He heard Dallas laugh and cough. “His fucking mistress? Can't trust him.”

“What if I can convince him?” Ian tried again, hardheaded as a mule.

“Gallagher…”

“I'm serious.”

A sigh. Dallas was probably wondering why he'd chosen Ian for the task again. “If you can convince him -and that's a big, fat IF- you also still need proofs. Consistent ones. We can't build a case only on one witness.”

“I’m working on that. I'll get them, I swear,” Ian assured. “But if Mickey testifies he gotta be put into witness protection.” 

“We'll see about that. That's not really something we can decide right-”

“He needs to go into witness protection,” Ian snapped. Mickey had to be safe, he was his first priority screw the rest. Dallas seemed to catch on Ian's intensity on the issue.

“Gallagher, just tell me you didn't get involved with that man. We don't need you getting shot because you're sticking it-"

Ian interrupted him again, this time by disconnecting the call. He knew he shouldn't have gotten involved, but it was too late by now.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to go back inside.

 

***

 

Ian was laying on his bed, eyes facing the ceiling, when the doorbell rang. He'd been undercover for six months and he couldn't get used to that horrible sound yet. But then the whole apartment was shit. Dallas had told him it was to help enforcing his false lowlife identify, but Ian suspected they just hadn't wanted to spend money on a less smelly carpet.

He looked at the tiny peephole in the door and what he saw made his heart expand in his chest, warmth spreading through his body. 

He immediately opened the door to find a dark haired man with a deep scowl etched into his forehead. And two blue eyes that appeared angry, but Ian could easily read the worry in them.

“You shouldn't have stared at us,” the man said, inviting himself in by way of shoving Ian aside with his shoulder. 

“Hello to you too, Mick,” Ian greeted, just happy to see his lover there, safe in his apartment. Where he could touch him without fear. 

“Fuck that,” Mickey growled. “It's fucking dangerous, Curtis. What if he noticed something?”

Ian came closer with a smile, the kind he reserved for Mickey. “He didn't.”

“But what if he did-"

Ian was quick to place his lips against Mickey’s. Yet the gesture was soft, and tender. He crowned his lover's head between his hands and kissed him with all the care in the world. At first the man didn't seem into it, his mouth still. Then he started responding, wrapping his arms around the redhead.

They broke the kiss and Ian placed his forehead against Mickey’s.

“I'm serious, you gotta stop that shit. I worry about you,” the shorter man whispered. Ian nodded.

“I know. I'll tone it down, okay?”

Mickey hummed and kissed his lover again. And again. Soon they were shedding their clothes on the floor and continued making out, naked on the bed. They never let go of each other; even when they came Ian remained on top of Mickey, peppering his face with breathless kisses. The man replied in kind.

“Can you stay tonight?” Ian asked once they were snuggling in bed. If he was tightening his hold on Mickey too strongly, his lover didn't say anything about it.

“Yeah. Declan’s out,” Mickey replied, placing the left side of his face on Ian's chest. “Need to get back in the morning, though.”

Ian’s special agent instincts kicked in. “With whom? Where did he go? Why didn't I know anything about it?”

A pair of beautiful blue eyes looked up at him. “He just went out with a few friends. You'd have been invited too if you hadn't pissed him off before. You know how fickle he is.”

Ian huffed a breath. He definitely knew how fickle of a person Declan was. He was hoping to get again in his good graces, like at the beginning. Yet it appeared the boss had noticed Ian seemed to care about Mickey. Damn it. That wasn’t good when what he needed to do was getting closer to the man and get proofs of his illegal firearm trafficking.

Mickey must have notice his annoyance because he rolled over, detaching himself from Ian. “Thought you’d like me staying with you tonight…”

There wasn’t any teasing note in his tone of voice. All Ian heard was insecurity. Mickey was really ready to think Ian would’ve preferred spending the night with Declan. He was used to believe he’d always came second. Last. His boyfriend had thoroughly made a nice job of destroying that man’s self esteem. Ian only wished that one day he’d be able to piece it back for him.

Ian shook his head and placed a warm hand on Mickey’s shoulder. “Of course I’m happier here, with you. I love you, Mick.”

Mickey glanced at him, before lowering his gaze. “Curtis…”

The redhead smiled softly and leaned down to kiss Mickey’s temple. “I know you’re not gonna say it. Doesn’t mean I can’t say it.”

The shorter man bit his bottom lip. Ian had already told him he loved him so many times already, but Mickey had told him straight away he wouldn’t say it back. Ian got it. Mickey wasn’t playing with him, he was serious with Ian, with what they had. He couldn’t say it because he feared Ian would leave him at some point. Even though he loved him back. Ian could be dense sometimes, but he knew Mickey felt the same for him and it broke his heart that the other man could think he was not worthy of Ian, that he was nothing.

“Whatever,” Mickey muttered and Ian proceeded to take his scowl away by kissing him with all the affection he could muster, all the passion. His lover responded in kind. There was no need to get sad or angry when it was just the two of them. They could just  _ be _ .

They kept making out until their jaws ached and their lips were swollen. Mickey let Ian spoon him, because he adored it, even if he’d never said it. Soon Mickey’s breath became regular, a sign he fell asleep. Ian didn’t stop holding him against his chest, listening to his soft snoring. He needed to protect Mickey, the man with a bruised skin and a poorly patched up heart. The morning after, Mickey would leave him alone, to go to his abuser. Ian had to find a way to save him and soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic may be short, but it could become a multichapter (non-linear story). It really depends on time and if you guys are intrigued/interested. Or maybe I should write some new multichapter? I don't knowXD
> 
> A few things:  
> *ATF: Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives  
> ** Yeah, Mickey doesn't know about Ian's real identity. They are lovers, but Ian still hasn't found the courage to tell him the truth.  
> *** Declan is a bit like Terry when it comes to destroy Mickey's mind and feelings. Their relationship started when they were both young and the man has kept Mickey close to him during his rise to power. Always making him feel unworthy and broken. When Declan has his bad moments he hits Mickey and he lets him.
> 
> my tumblr [JAinsel & the Ships](https://jainsel-and-the-ships.tumblr.com)


	2. The Blue Eyed Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10 months earlier: Ian meets his target's lover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you convinced me guys!  
> I'll continue this story, but it's gonna follow a non-linear narrative, so the next one could be set even after chapter 1 and the next after the next before.... etc etc.

Everything's going to be alright, Gallagher. You'll be fine, just remember what we ran through. You know who you're supposed to be and what you gotta do. Don't fucking blow this up.

Yeah, Ian,  _ don't blow it up _ . 

Fuck, why had he accepted again?

Just because he was of Irish origin and knew some Gaelic words, it didn't mean he would be welcomed into the organization with open arms. One wrong move and he'd be dead; with a nice Glasgow Smile carved into his face at best.

He was young, fuck. He'd only gone undercover once before, playing the role of a stripper, but it had been as a support for another agent's big operation. Now instead Ian was going to be on his own. With only a few, already arranged meetings with his handler, Ian had to count on himself and his capabilities. 

He knew he was good, but in that moment he felt like a fledgling pushed out of his nest and forced to fly before colliding with the ground. It wasn't a nice picture. He had seen many fledglings splattered on the concrete during Spring.

Ian was sweating. Damn, sweat was for the weaks and liars and he definitely couldn't make the others think either one of the two options.

Sean must have noticed his anxiety, because he grabbed Ian by his forearm, his grip strong and painful for a man almost in his seventy. 

“Don't fuck this up, agent. There ain't just your ass on the line,” he whispered. Ian was inclined to agree, but it would've made him appear scared of the old man and he couldn't allow that. Not when Sean was the only one inside that he actually held some power over.

“ _ You _ don't fuck this up, Sean. It's your damn job to make me look trustworthy,” he responded.

The man scoffed. “If this were a job I'd get payed for all my troubles…”

Listen to his guts! “You get not to end up in jail, I think it's enough.”

“Remaining alive is- Oh, Declan, my boy! Everything's good?” Sean's tone changed dramatically once he noticed a man entering the pub.

Ian's jaw clenched. That was not just ‘a man’, that was his target. Declan Donnelly, the Irish mob boss with a monopoly on firearms the ATF would love to have concrete proves on; Ian was undercover with the precise scope on getting those proves, especially about his sellers. The warlord had two guards behind him and nodded towards Sean, who waved for him to sit with them. 

This was the moment, this was when Ian would test with his own skin if Sean had really decided to collaborate in order to avoid jail time.

“It's been awhile since last I saw you, old fuck,” the man greeted, sitting down. He looked at Ian, a tinge of curiosity in his expression. “You finally decided to go for boys?”

Sean sputtered, shaking his head. He seemed at loss of words, so Ian kicked him in the shin under the table. To  _ refresh _ his memory. “No, still faithful to my wife. This is Curtis, he's an acquaintance, my wife's side, you know. He's looking for a job and I thought of you. He's strong and smart and doesn't mind getting his hands dirty. You wouldn't regret hiring him.”

His words seemed genuine enough. Declan lit up a cigarette, throwing the empty packet on the table.

“You vouch for him?” he asked Sean, after taking a drag.

Ian could feel Sean stiffen next to him, he was going to vouch for a fed, but luckily he wasn't showing his fear. “Yeah… of course I do. He's a good kid, I tell you.”

Declan turned his attention towards Ian, his eyes going up and down, appraising the redhead. “You're a good kid, huh?”

Ian swallowed. Declan was not even ten years older than he, but he possessed a confident, menacing aura that only a well navigated man would normally own. “Yeah… just like Sean says.”

“Good kids get scared easily,” Declan observed with a smirk. Ian couldn't allow himself to appear scared.

“I don't.”

The man looked at Ian with an intense stare. Then started laughing as if Ian had just told the funniest joke.

“We'll see, Curtis? You got a license?”

Ian shrugged, he needed to appear tough. “Sure.”

Declan stubbed the cigarette next to the ashtray. “I need a chauffeur. At least for the time being.”

Ian didn't even had to agree, the man stood up taking the positive reply for granted. With a wave of his hand he caught the bartender’s attention, who moved to fill two pints with beer. 

“Don't be a stranger again, Sean. I might start to get suspicious.” Completely nonplussed by the sudden pallor on the old man's face, Declan gave his farewell to Ian too. “Good kid, tomorrow at 10 a.m.” 

Ian knew where the boss lived, but Declan hadn't even bothered. He left them to use a door that probably gave way to some sort of backroom.

The beers arrived and they still hadn't uttered a word. It was Ian who decided to break the unnerving silence.

“It went well, right?”

Sean grabbed the beer with shaky hands, though. “I swear that man gives me the chills. His father too, but he's much worse. Fuck.” He took a sip, but on second thought, decided to down the gold liquor in one go. “You better find whatever you need soon, agent. My old heart can't sustain another heart attack.”

Ian bit his bottom lip. He simply nodded. 

  


***

  


Being Declan’s driver was actually not a bad position. Not at all. It meant being close to the man, knowing about his whereabouts and about the people he met; maybe even listening to conversations on the phone. 

When Ian arrived at the mansion, he only had to announce himself as the new driver to get pointed towards a black car. The smell of leather was intense inside and Ian wondered how much the car cost. Surely more than an ATF agent's annual salary. Ian knew the mansion was luxurious too, even if he had only seen the parking lot so far.

Declan had told him 10 in the morning and now it was 10 on the dot. He could only wait.

Five minutes later, the back right-side door was opened and a man who wasn't his target got in. 

“‘Nother soulless ginger, huh? Fuck, I wonder if there are any Irish left in fucking Ireland,” the man said, not bothering looking at Ian’s face. “Get me to Alphonse, its directions are already set.”

Ian frowned. He started speaking, turning his head back to talk to this stranger.

“Excuse me, but I'm supposed to wait for Mr. Sullivan, so-"

Ian's mouth stopped working once he was met with a pair of beautiful blue eyes and he immediately recognized the man. Dark hair, pale skin, a seemingly permanent scowl on his face. Mickey Milkovich, Declan’s sidepiece. Ian couldn't have forgotten that face even if he tried, it was imprinted in his mind since the day he saw his picture under Declan’s on the ATF’s board. 

“So what,” Mickey raised an eyebrow. “Lost your tongue?”

Ian shook his head. “No. I, uh, I'm Mr Sullivan’s new driver. I gather you're coming with?”

Mickey snorted. “You really think you're his driver? His driver's called Silent Pete. You're new, gotta earn his trust first.”

“Oh.” Ian wasn't able to hide his disappointment. He  _ needed _ to be close to Declan. Being his lover's driver was far from it.

“Boohoo, Raggedy Ann, I'm not happy with it either. I like to drive on my own, you know. So just make me a favor. Behave as good as any Irish thug and I'll sing your praises,” he said, sighing. “Hopefully you'll be out of my hair and wagging your tail at Declan in no time.”

Ian wanted to add something, but the man raised both his eyebrows, perfectly conveying the message of wanting Ian to just drive and shut the fuck up. The drive went along the same way, with Mickey tuning Ian out by playing in his cell phone. The redhead resigned himself not to ask him any more questions. He couldn't afford to get fired on the first day just because his target's sidepiece found him too nosy.

When Ian pulled over at the right destination, Mickey didn't wait for him to stop the engine. The man opened the door straight away and went inside the tailor shop. 

“What the…” Ian muttered, getting out of the car and running after Mickey. He didn't know if he should accompany the man or stay inside, but he had at least to ask him. “Wait a sec, M-”

Ian stopped before he could call Mickey by his name. He knew it, of course, but the man hadn't introduced himself. Just like he didn't seem to care about getting acquainted with Ian either. The redhead found Mickey talking to a much older man with a beard, probably discussing measurements.

“The fuck do you want, Ginger?” Mickey snarled, his words so out of tune with the classy environment. Yet the old tailor didn't seem to ear, probably already used to the man's colorful language. “Shouldn't you stay in the fucking car or something?”

“I don't know!” Ian exclaimed, lowering his voice immediately since the tailor sent him a death glare. Apparently only Mickey was allowed to shout. “I’m here to ask you. So, I guess I have to wait for you outside?”

Mickey rolled his eyes, but spoke again “Nah, you can stay. You tell me if the suit I ordered fits me for real. This fucker here always says it does to sell.”

The tailor’s mouth was agape, but didn't say anything. He was aware it was probably in his best interests to keep the mob happy, be on their good side.

“Sure,” said Ian. “I'll, uh, sit here…”

Mickey nodded and walked towards one one the fitting room, followed by the tailor with the suit on his arm. Ian decided to give him all the time necessary and browsed his new phone containing like four numbers and some fake texts. His handler Dallas had given it to him, he was not allowed to have his own phone. Ian tried not to dwell it also meant he could not login to his King.com account.

Ian didn't raise his eyes from his phone until he heard someone clearing his throat. 

“So, how do I look? Be fucking honest,” Mickey said standing in front of him. 

Ian glanced up and there and fucking then he made the worst, sweetest mistake: he found that man in a grey suit incredibly pretty. A blue-eyed beauty.

“You fucking paying attention?!” Mickey snapped him from his reverie.

Ian’s brain tried to regain the function to use words. “You look really good, uh…”

The man scoffed. “Didn’t you know? Mickey. My name’s Mickey.”

“I'm Curtis,” the redhead was quick to reply. 

“I didn't fucking ask, did I?” but the man didn't look annoyed, rather amused. “Curtis... What kind of fucking name is it?”

Ian wasn't going to tell him it was the fake identity of the stripper he impersonated during his first undercover operation. He'd thought it was good luck. “My mom's named me this way.”

Mickey nodded, as if he understood. “Yeah… mothers can't choose names if their life depended on it.”

Mikhail, his whole name was Mikhail. His mother was dead and his dad had disappeared under mysterious circumstances - probably dead too. Maybe he was an orphan, he didn't know. The ATF had dug out the info once Mickey’s liaison had come up in the investigation.

Ian shrugged. He wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't supposed to know anything. The tailor came back with a lilac tie, skillfully knotting it around Mickey’s neck. 

“It suits you,” Ian said. 

Mickey chuckled, waving at his eyes. “Yeah it brings out my eye color or some faggy shit, right?”

Ian nodded.

The other man loose the knot and threw the tie on the floor. “Fucking hate ties, they're too tight.”

Leaving a dumbfounded Ian behind, Mickey went again to the fitting room to put his clothes back on.

  


***

  


It was once they were in the car that Mickey spoke again

“You try to talk less, I'll put in a good word for you with Declan.”

The redhead smiled. Fuck, he still had to work on hiding better his feelings from showing on his face. Mickey found it amusing, though.

“Don't get your pants in a twist, fuckhead,” he chuckled. “You've still got to learn when to fucking zip the fuck up.”

Ian nodded, but he made the second greatest mistake: he found that chuckle adorable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right.  
> If you're curious about some specific parts of this fic, you can always ask me here or on tumblr. They could become what I'll write for the next chapter. Like, I don't know, when Mickey will learn about Ian's true identity, Mickey and Declan's past, Ian and Mickey first time, and so on.
> 
> my tumblr [JAinsel & the Ships](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/jainsel-and-the-ships)


	3. My name's Ian Gallagher (part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian wants to reveal his real identity to Mickey.  
> (set after Chapter 1 & 2)

“ Mickey. First, remember that I love you, that much is true, but my name isn’t Curtis and I'm undercover for the ATF. I’m special agent Ian Gallagher…”

Ian scrunched his nose. No, it seemed too pretentious. He ran a hand through his red hair, again focusing on his reflection on the mirror. He definitely had to practice before telling Mickey the truth.

“ Hey, Mick. Gotta tell ya something. My real name's Ian and I'm here to put your boyfriend in jail. Sorry, not sorry.”

_ Ew _ . Nope.

He sighed.

It was hopeless. Every time Ian tried to rehearse, he always ended up feeling defeated. He wanted to clear things with Mickey. He _ needed _ to. He was in too deep with the man to keep on delaying the inevitable. Ian was planning on spending the rest of his life with Mickey after everything was be over and telling him who he was, was kind of a necessary step in their relationship.

“ The secret I'm gonna share with you is a death sentence, but that's how much I love and trust you. Because I do, Mick, so fucking… “ Oh, fuck. How could he tell Mickey now? He'd let time pass, Mickey knew him as Curtis, a simple thug. “I'm not who you think I am. I mean, I'm still me. Even my family, I told you all about them and there's no lie… well, except my family name. My real name is Ian Gallagher, I'm with the ATF, I was sent undercover to get proof against Declan and I'm so-so close to having enough to give to the prosecution to build a strong case against him. And if… when, _ when _ that happens, I want you safe. I know it's a big word, you always say it…” Mickey would always make Ian remember that there was no such thing as safety when living within the mob. But was it so wrong for Ian to want that for his lover?

“ But I promise I won't let you down. When I first arrived here, I wanted it to be over already. I didn't feel ready for such a big task because Declan is fucking crazy… then I met you and I can't even think about letting you go. You're it for me, Mickey. I intended for you to become our main witness but it's too fucking dangerous. I want you out of this mess, far away from the trial as possible. I can find all the proof we need without risking your life in the process, I swear.”

Mickey with his big blue eyes. Ian wondered how they would look: happy? In love? Scared? Probably fucking angry, but Ian was sure he'd make him change his mind. He knew Mickey belonged with him, not with Declan and certainly not with the Irish mob. Lip had once told him that he had a hero complex and maybe it was even true, but his lover wasn't a weak maiden; Mickey Milkovich was tough and he could take care of himself. Ian only wanted to help him see that.

“ I love you, you're stronger than you think, you're the best person I know. If you love me too… no, even if you don't, you gotta admit that you can't stay here. Declan is killing you, bit by bit, and you need to stay away from him. I- please Mickey, trust me.”

Ian looked at himself in the mirror. That was good, right? A little messy, maybe, but it conveyed his feelings, the sincerity.

Ian just wished he'd be able to say something like that, once face-to-face with Mickey.

 

***

 

_ Mickey I need to tell you something. _

_ Mick, what if I tell you… _

_ Please, now hear me out. _

_ I want to come clean, Mick… _

Every word Ian had vanished the moment he saw Mickey coming down from upstairs.  The man smiled softly at him and Ian just wanted to close their distance and kiss him with all the passion he could muster.

His gaze must had revealed his thoughts, because Mickey bit his bottom lip and climbed down the stairs faster.

“ Mick…”

“ Shh.” Mickey grabbed Ian's hand and dragged him behind the heavy curtains in one of the living rooms. Their mouths found each other and Mickey pressed his body against his lover. Ian gasped in the kiss, so happy to have Mickey again in his arms.

They made out, trying to keep down their moans. Fuck, Ian wanted to hear the other man's voice taken by pleasure, but they were both aware of the danger of their situation.

“ Curtis! Where the fuck are you?” Declan called for the redhead, causing the two lovers to pull away immediately, fear in their eyes.

“ I… yeah,” Ian muttered. To go meet Declan was the last thing he wanted, especially with Mickey so close to him.

His lover nodded, but before Ian could exit from behind the curtains, Mickey stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“ You got your afternoon off, right? What if I came to your apartment...” Mickey proposed. He would never look him in the eyes when he made such suggestions. As if Ian could ever tell him no.

Oh, no. This time Ian had to decline. As much as he wanted to have Mickey over at his apartment, in his bed, or even just watching crappy tv shows together, really, he had to say no. In the afternoon Ian was scheduled to meet with Dallas for a briefing.

Dallas thought he had to see his girlfriend, now he needed another excuse with Mickey.

“ I can't.”

“ Oh,” Mickey’s eyes were so expressive that it was easy for Ian to spot the disappointment in them.

“ I need to meet and old friend,” Ian said. Fuck, he was getting better at lying, but not to Mickey. It was so hard telling him lies. His whole identity was already fake, Ian hated to make up stories for him too. Yet this time he had to. Then he would've told Mickey the truth.

“ An old friend?” Mickey repeated, skeptical. “Who? Not your supposed girlfriend?”

He had told Mickey that his ‘girlfriend’ was a beard of his that he would introduce to Declan in case the man ever became too suspicious of them. Mickey had seemed convinced at first, maybe reassured by Ian's kisses while they were laying post-coital in bed, but now the doubt was clear in his face.

“ Uh, no. Just an old friend, really.”

“ A ‘he'?” Mickey pressed. Ian could feel jealousy seeping through his tone of voice.

“ A very straight ‘he',” Ian was quick to add. “Haven't seen him in a long time, we gotta catch up. But I promise to see you after?”

The other man didn't seem convinced, but nodded anyway. “If I'm not busy…”

He was teasing. It was alright again. Ian smiled and leaned in to kiss him one more time.

“ Curtis!” Declan called again.

Ian rolled his eyes. It was Mickey himself who kicked him from the curtains and waved for him to just go already.

 

***

 

The meeting point looked like a dump, smelled like a dump, but it was actually a motel room. Its only perk, as well as the only reason the ATF had chosen the place, was the discretion.

Dallas was already inside room 23, waiting for him with a bunch of files scattered on the bed.

“ Long time no see, Curtis,” he greeted. The redhead flipped him off.

“ Call me Ian, Gallagher, whatever, please?”

The man chuckled. “Ten months inside and you're already having an identity crisis? That's so lame.”

“ Fuck you,” Ian said, but without any bite to it. The phrase seemed to make Dallas remember something.

“ About fucking, we gotta talk about it, Gallagher. Your speech concerning the sidepiece and witness protection…”

“ I know,” Ian interrupted. He had made a poor ass decision talking to Dallas about Mickey; he should've waited to confess to his lover first. “Can we talk about it next meeting?”

Dallas nodded. “Alright, give me an update then.”

Ian was more than happy to leave the Mickey-topic behind, for the moment. He started talking about Declan’s latest movements.

They spent three hours talking and planning. By 6 p.m., Ian exited first as he'd been the last to enter. Ten minutes later, Dallas followed. Their encounter had been monitored by the AFT, but not only. A man sporting furious blue eyes had observed it from his car. Ian going inside a motel room, spending hours in it and coming out first, followed by a man some time later. His tattooed knuckles were white from the tight grip he had on the wheel. A couple minutes later he received a text from the redhead informing him that it was okay to come over. Oh, Mickey was definitely coming over.

 

***

 

Ian opened the door and was greeted by a punch in the face. Ian wobbled back, pressing a hand against his nose, blood running down his chin.

“ Mickey?!”

The dark haired man was on him with another punch, this time in the gut. Ian lost his balance and Mickey kicked him.

“ A very straight ‘he’, huh?! What do you think I am? Stupid? I'll fucking kill you!” he growled. Ian had enough sense to kick him in the shin, making him fall down as well.

“ Calm down! What happened?!” Ian exclaimed, even though he had a hunch. He positioned himself so that Mickey was under him, trapped.

“ What happened? You fucked that old geezer, that's what happened! ‘I love you Mick! So much’,” Mickey mimicked Ian's voice. He was trying to get out from Ian's arm lock “ Fuck you! All a bunch of lies!”

“ No, Mick. Please, I do love you, it's not what you think, I swear!” Ian tried to tell him, but Mickey was in full-on rage.

“ I know what I saw!” Mickey snarled, trying to get Ian off of him. “You like choking on grey pubes, don't ya? Then what the fuck are you doing with me?!”

“ I wasn't fucking anyone!” Ian cried out in pain when Mickey finally got the upper hand, now caging the redhead under him. “Mick, please!”

“ Then who the fuck was he at the motel?!” Mickey grabbed Ian's arm, stretching it behind his back in a painful lock.

“ A friend!”

“ You meet a friend in a motel room? Don't believe ya.” He forced Ian's arm a little more.

Mickey wasn't trusting his words. Mickey wasn't used to trusting anybody, because people betray. Ian was feeling his arm ready to break and he would have accepted it, he could bear the pain. But not when Mickey was in pain too. Ian had wanted to take things slow, telling the truth to the other man another time, in a quiet situation.

Well, the plan had to change. Because in that moment Ian made a quick decision, that Mickey suffering because Ian was cheating on him was way worse than he knowing about his real identity. Ian took that risk.

“ Fucking tell me!” Mickey growled, Ian's arm on the cusp of breaking.

“ My handler!” Ian shouted. “He's my handler!”

His words stopped Mickey, but the man didn't loosen his grip. “What?”

Ian breathed in. Out.

“ The man you saw… he's my handler,” he repeated. “Since I'm undercover.”

Mickey’s reaction was quick. He let go of Ian and stood up, grabbing the gun he kept behind his back. He pointed it at Ian, his eyes wide with confusion, rage and fear.

“ The fuck?! You, a fucking agent?!  FBI? ATF?”

“ ATF.” Ian moved slowly, to at least put himself in a sitting position. “I'm so sorry, Mick. I meant to tell you the truth, but-"

“ Fuck you!” Mickey yelled, the gun now a few inches from Ian's face. “You're… you…”

Mickey was shattering into a thousand pieces. All the work Ian had done of keeping him together seemed to have the opposite effect now. The man was trembling, his eyes wet. Mickey licked his bottom lip. “You fucking used me. What's your angle? You want to get to Declan through me? Fucking… who the fuck are you?!”

Things weren't going how Ian had wanted them to. He had expected a look of momentary betrayal on that beautiful face, but not as much as Mickey was showing right now, his eyes wet and ready to cry. Because the man had forced Ian to confess, the truth hadn't come out on his own.

Ian sighed. “I was planning on telling you everything, Mickey. My name's Ian Gallagher and I'm here to put Declan in jail for good. But you… you've never been a pawn, I swear-"

“ Shut the fuck up,” Mickey said, but Ian couldn't stop now.

“ No, you gotta hear me out. I love you-”

“ Lies! They're all _ lies _ !” Mickey shouted. “You've been fucking feeding us- _ me, _ lies from the fucking beginning!”

Ian opened his mouth to talk, but Mickey wasn't having any.

“ I'll go tell Declan, now,” he said, a sense of finality in his voice. Mickey nodded to himself. He took a step back. “I suggest you get your stuff and fuck off for good. I'll let you go, for old time sake.”

Ian made to stand, but he heard the click of a gun being cocked and he stopped still.

“ You're not gonna shoot me,” Ian muttered.

“Fucking try me,” Mickey threatened. He reached for the door and opened it angrily. “Go away, _Gallagher_ , I mean it.”

With these last words, Mickey closed the door behind him. Ian was certain he saw a tear falling down the man's cheek as his face disappeared.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you worry my dears! Next chapter posted very soon AND it'll be the chronological continuation of this chapter (Mickey's POV)


	4. My name's Ian Gallagher (part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part II of: Mickey discovers Ian's true identity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mhhhhhh sorry for the wait!

_ Fuck this shit! Fuck this shit! Fuck this shit! _

Mickey was driving like a mad man down the streets of Chicago. He was fucking homicidal and all he wanted was to hurt someone, something. That was the reason for punching the steering wheel while driving.

Fucking Curtis.

Oh, right _ no _ . It was Ian now, Ian Gallagher. He had always been someone else.

Fucking fuck!

That fucker had been lying to him from day fucking one. He must have had so many laughs at Mickey's expense! Oh, and he loved him, sure. He-

Mickey felt tears prickling his eyes. Dammit.

He shouldn't have trusted Ian, but he had and he'd fallen so hard for those sweet green eyes and passionate embraces. Mickey had thought he could see the adoration and feel love seeping through each kiss; Ian had made him feel good, cared for, he had made him believe he deserved the attention, that he wasn't some worthless fuck up, but someone beautiful.

Mickey sniffed. Fuck, he _ was _ crying. He turned up the volume of the radio, hoping the loud music would drown out his thoughts, deafen the broken record.

Yet the images remained. Ian - no, Curtis! He'd been pretending to be someone else, _ lies lies lies _ \- smiling softly at him, caressing his naked skin as if it was something precious, worshipping Mickey’s whole body with his tongue. It wasn't just about the sex. That fucking redhead had showed him he cared about him. He'd noticed Mickey and had professed his love for him, over and over until even Mickey had started to believe that maybe, just maybe, he deserved something good in his life, that it was true.

Mickey punched the wheel, emmiting a wail from the car as he caught the horn. Fuck it. That was the worst thing of all - Ian had made him believe that he was more than Declan’s toy, that he deserved the world and even more. _ Liar _ .

Instead, Ian had used him to get to the very man he'd professed he was jealous of, because he was allowed to touch Mickey in public. What a joke. He had been a pawn in the ATF agent's scheme. Ian had probably planned everything from the start.

Mickey turned right, waiting for the man at the gate to open it. His hands itched. He had come back home to tell Declan. Mickey was aware of where his loyalty stood now. He had ruined the only true relationship he had, as fucked up as it might be. And for what? For someone who didn't even exist, for an illusion.

He asked for Declan and was told to go to his office. The door was open and Mickey simply went inside without knocking, his mind overloaded with too many emotions and thoughts.

He was welcomed by the scene of his boyfriend with one foot pressed against the head of one of his henchmen. The man was bleeding from his mouth while Declan ground his heel against his temple. The man, Danny, if Mickey wasn't wrong, was chanting a mantra of “sorry sorry sorry”, but his boss wasn't listening.

“Oh, hi honey,” Declan greeted him as soon as he took notice of Mickey though his attention shifted back to the task at hand- foot. “You back already?”

“Yeah…” Mickey couldn't tear his eyes off that shiny expensive shoe. He asked, trying to appear as calm as he could, “Danny in trouble?”

Declan nodded, and slightly kicked the man's head. “What do you say, Danny boy? You in trouble?”

Danny whimpered. He muttered something along the line of “Yes, I won't do it anymore", but Declan’s heel was now crushing his mouth, soiling the sole of his shoe with blood.

“Danny here, decided that there was no harm if he sold a tiny Akash on his own. Didn't you, Danny?” this time Declan kicked heavier, his foot catching the guy's jaw, and Mickey heard the sound of a bone crack, Danny falling unconscious.

Mickey swallowed with some difficulty. Danny had just gotten ahead of himself and had finalized a sale without Declan’s authorization and it had earned him a smashed jaw. What would happen to Ian if his boyfriend discovered he was an undercover agent? Mickey knew his tastes; Declan wouldn't be satisfied with only Ian's death, oh no, he loved inflicting pain.

The boss lost his interest in the passed out body and approached Mickey. “You needed something?”

The younger man let Declan kiss him on the lips; his boyfriend was always in a good mood after he'd broken something.

“Nah, just saying hello,” murmured Mickey.

Declan kissed him on more time, grabbing Mickey’s biceps strong enough to leave marks. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to his usual display of attention so Mickey endured. This was Ian's fault, his knowing that these touches weren't pleasurable. Before Ian, he would be glad to receive such caresses because he hadn't known any better.

And then Ian had come along and had showed him what a caress was like, soft and loving and capable of making him cry. Not like with Declan, when he'd cry too, because of the pain. Ian would make tears fall from his eyes when he showed so much adoration in every brush of fingertips, every peck of his lips, that it was too much for Mickey to bear, so foreign to such feelings.

“Okay then. Gotta take care of some business so I'll be out all night,” Declan informed, detaching himself from Mickey, who simply nodded.

He watched his boyfriend leave, but his mind was full of Ian.

He couldn't give Ian to Declan. He'd torture him; he'd break those beautiful fingers, ruin that warm smile or worse. Mickey didn't want that for Ian, even though the redhead had lied to him the whole time.

_ I love you, Mick. _

Mickey sighed, his stare now on the few blood splatters on the floor.

Did Ian really love him? Or at least, had he come to care a little for him during these months? His eyes had always seemed so sincere, though. He couldn't have faked that, or could he?

All Mickey was sure of was that Declan couldn't know.

He needed to go out for another drive.

 

***

 

When Mickey parked the car next to Ian's building, he wasn't sure if he would still find the redhead there. He _ had _ told him to go away, after all. If Ian had some common sense, he would already be far away by now. Ignoring every feeling he could have about Ian's probable disappearance, Mickey passed through the main door of the building, always open after having had the lock broken a few months back.

Strange enough, Ian's door was unlocked too. Realization dawned on him immediately: Ian had taken his advice and fucked off.

Yet, when Mickey went inside, there was no trace of Ian having packed his shit, everything was in its usual place.

He heard the sound of water running.

Silence again.

Then the bathroom door opened and a half naked Ian came out from it, wet and with a towel wrapped around his waist. But that wasn't what caught Mickey’s attention, his bloody nose was what snagged it. Ian opened his mouth to speak, but the other man preceded him.

“Is it broken?” Mickey asked.

Mechanically, Ian touched his nose, wincing from the pain. He shook his head, though. “Nah, it'll just bruise, I guess.”

Mickey scratched his own nose and he hated that Ian could read through his gesture right away, know he was nervous.

“Why is the door open?”

Ian shrugged. “I never closed it after you left, I hoped you'd come back.”

Mickey bit his bottom lip. “You should've done as I told you.”

“Fuck off? Can't do that.”

That fucking idiot. “Is it  ‘cause of your operation? I tell Declan, you're dead.”

This time a small, shy smile appeared on Ian's lips. “I trust you to keep the secret.”

Mickey snorted. Was he for real? “ATF choose its special agents based on their stupidity? You fucking lied to me, I could've told Declan who you really are.”

“Yet you didn't,” Ian said, cockily. “And you won't either.”

“Is that right?” Mickey raised his eyebrows, but made the mistake of looking down to Ian's pecs. The redhead smiled even wider.

“Uh-uh,” Ian hummed, he shortened their distance by a few steps. “Because you know my feelings for you are true and I think you feel the same.”

Mickey wanted to laugh at his words, tell Ian to go fuck himself, he didn't know shit about Mickey as Mickey didn't know shit about him, that he was going to tell Declan everything. Instead all he could think of was the blood on Declan’s office floor, how it could be Ian's. Mickey only needed to say a few words to his boyfriend for Ian to die.

“You still need to go, man. This time it was me, but next? It could be Declan himself. Just leave.”

Ian's smile now took a softer edge. “You worry about me.”

Mickey shook his head, but didn't move when the redhead got even closer, to the point where he could smell the nice fragrance of Ian's shower gel. “Whatever.”

He was met by green eyes that looked at him with nothing short of adoration. He was aware of what would come next, but didn't fight it. Ian leaned in and locked eyes with him until he closed them, kissing Mickey softly on the lips. Mickey instinctively responded, because of the feelings he couldn't say out loud.

“I'm not kidding, you gotta go,” he whispered when they pulled back, just a little. But Ian's lips found his again and the topic was forgotten for the moment. The kiss became fiercer, with Mickey’s hands roaming Ian's bare body and Ian removing every layer of clothing between them.

That day, Mickey had felt so many contrasting emotions; happy to see Ian, disappointment to not be able to spend a free afternoon with him, jealousy at the motel, fury and betrayal at  Ian's confession, fear for Ian's life. Passion, complete, blissful passion.

They were grinding against each other, their bodies entirely naked, until Ian lifted him up by his ass, able to carry him to the couch. Mickey laid on it, welcoming the weight of the other man on top of him. Their lips met again and they were once again lost in each other, Mickey’s legs tightly wrapped around Ian's waist. Mickey had never felt like this before, not until Ian had come into his life. Their making out, their sex, they were standing on equal footing; Mickey would give as much as he'd get from Ian, something he wasn't used to, being in a relationship with Declan, a man who would hold all the power and control in any situation. And it was so good, to the point where being intimate with his boyfriend felt now ten times more painful. Sometimes Mickey would blame Ian for it, but all the man had done was show him the cruelty behind Declan’s touch.

When Ian thrust into him, Mickey greeted his entrance with a loud moan. He scratched the broad, freckled back with his nails, enjoying the grunt coming from Ian's throat. This was a good pain, it was something that they both enjoyed and Mickey loved to see his marks impressed on Ian's skin. Even if Ian couldn't reciprocate. On Mickey’s skin only his boyfriend's signs were allowed and there would always be at least a bruise to prove it; or the two initials D.D. tattooed on his heart, when he'd been young and stupid and completely smitten by Declan. He'd feel the impulse of burn the letters away whenever he was with the redhead, when Ian could see them. The man had never said anything about them, though.

Mickey came first, Ian followed him a few moments later. They didn't let go of each other, breathing the same air, their bodies melted together.

A peaceful calm took over, accompanied by caresses, fingers running on each other skin.

“I'm staying, Mick. Can't run away now,” Ian whispered in the silence.

Mickey looked at him. “It's too dangerous.”

“Been fine until now.”

“Maybe so, and I get that you want to catch Declan, but-"

“You're here,” Ian interrupted. The other man frowned.

“What?”

“Mickey…” Ian sighed and met his blue eyes. “I won't leave without you.”

Mickey shook his head, he didn't want to hear such things, because they were hopeful and hope was useless. But Ian's thoughts seemed to differ.

“I'm serious. When I first started, all I wanted was get enough evidence and leave. Then I met you and you're the best thing that has ever happened to me. To think that I found you in this ordeal is crazy, but here we are.”

Mickey forced himself to scoff. That or blushing. “Sure, meeting in secret and fearing for our lives.”

“But it doesn't have to be this way forever. I intended to tell you the truth, Mickey, because once this is over, I want you by my side… well, if you like,” Ian said, bashful.

“Doesn't matter what I like. You're S.A. Ian Gallagher, you're not Curtis. You'll get out of here and I'll be in jail with Declan, I guess.” That was what Mickey had always thought would happen, anyway. He was fucked for life, had been before meeting his boyfriend.

Ian looked at him as if he was the one being betrayed. “You don't mean that, Mick. I love you. Ian, Curtis… it's me. _ I _ love you. And I promise I'll get you out of here.”

Mickey bit his bottom lip. He wasn't moved. He couldn't be moved by this tall ginger who was going to be the death of him. Literally. Ian professed he wanted to take him away, put Declan in jail and be what? Boyfriends? A former sidepiece holding hands with an ATF agent? Mickey should be laughing in his freckled face. Instead his heart was beating so fucking fast and his eyes were wet and _ fuck, _ he was going to cry.

“Mick…”

The dark haired man covered his eyes with his hands when tears started running, but Ian took them in his own and kissed his palms. Then he kissed Mickey’s nose, his wet cheeks, his lips. There was nothing sensual about it, it was soothing and it made Mickey feel safe. Even though Mickey Milkovich didn't do hope, he had to admit he let himself believe in a brighter future while wrapped tightly in Ian's arms.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elfy Shrimpy love thank you for editing this<3333


	5. I'm your family now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Declan's past.
> 
> Mickey's ten when he meets Declan. From that moment on, they'll be a big part of each other life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait:)  
> This chapter's been a bitch, but here it is.
> 
> Chronologically speaking this chapter is set years and years before the actual story.  
> There's violence. Read the tags.  
> There are also doors slamming shut. Like many times.

Ten years old.

 

The kid was like ten years old and he already possessed the kind of eyes of someone who'd witnessed too much bad shit in their life.

Declan didn't move from his covered position and observed the little thief in silence. The dark haired boy had already pocketed a silver ashtray and was now brushing his fingers over a small crystal statue in the shape of an angel. The boy licked his lips and grabbed the object.

“That's not worth shit,” Declan said, showing himself. The boy's eyes opened wide in shock, a beautiful pair of blue irises tinged with fear. Around one eye, an almost faded bruise, now in shades of yellow. His surprise didn't last long, though, and the blue eyes soon took a menacing connotation; or at least they were trying to, with a scowl and everything.

“Oh yeah? Who the fuck are you?” the boy said, his fingers curling up in tight fists. 

“Who am I? Who are  _ you _ , I'd say. This is my home. Well, my father's anyway,” informed Declan. “And you're stealing his stuff. So, what's your name, kiddo?”

The boy's jaw clenched, but eventually he spoke. “Mickey. And I'm not a kid.”

“Sure you are. Hello, Mickey,” Declan greeted, “I'm Declan. So what are you doing here? Or you just broke in to steal an ashtray and an awful statue?”

Mickey looked at the object, still in his hand. It was clear to Declan that the boy found it pretty, instead. “‘s shiny and shit…” he muttered.

“Yeah, you can just make a couple hundred bucks with it. Peanuts.” Mickey seemed surprised. Maybe for him that much was already a lot. Declan pointed his index at an old looking book, placed on the coffee table. “That's better.”

The boy raised his eyebrows. He was skeptical. “ _ That _ ? It's a book.”

Declan chuckled. “Yeah.  _ That _ . It's worth two grands, at the very least.”

Mickey blue eyes were full of stupor. He looked at Declan, then at the book, as if it was a dragon or some other mythological, incredible creature. “And- and you're giving it to me?”

Declan shrugged. “I'm simply suggesting a better object to steal.”

“From your house.”

“My father's,” the older kid rectified. “These are all his. I don't care about them.”

Mickey nodded, he seemed to understand and Declan appreciated. He was only fourteen years old, but he had a clear view of what he wanted and what he despised. His father was one of the latter. 

That reminded him.

“What are you doing here again?” He had an idea about it.

Mickey bit his bottom lip. “My pops took me here. He got some shit to do with the boss. Uh, your dad?”

“Ha. You're his dealer's son,” Declan nodded. Just as he thought.

The boy shrugged. “Yeah. So? Got a problem with it?”

“Nah, father can OD for all I care,” the older boy said, shaking his head. “But then… guess your pops’ a piece of shit too. He beat you?”

Declan touched the skin near his eye. Mickey avoided his gaze. “It was a fight…” but his words didn't sound convincing at all. 

“Sure thing. Then why your knuckles are not even scratched? You just let other kids beat you?” he teased. He obtained the reaction he’d been expecting.

“Fuck no! I fight!” Mickey shouted. Then he realized his impasse. “I… pops got angry at me. ‘s my fault.”

Declan smiled at him, a smile forged with pity and knowledge. “You know, Mickey. One day I'll take over, I'll sweep the throne of off my father's ass. With any means necessary. If you want, I'll free you of your father too.”

Mickey looked about to scoff in disbelief. But on a second thought, he glanced at Declan, his blue eyes unsure. “You would?”

The teen nodded. “Promise.”

Mickey sniffed. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“He beats my mom too.”

“I don't have a mother, but I'd want to protect her from that loser too if I did,” Declan agreed. “Alright, then. When the time will come I'll take care of your pops too.”

Mickey nodded. It was obvious he didn't trust the older boy that much, but he was willingly to believe him. He was about to say something when another, much deeper male voice called for him.

“Ay, Mick! Where the fuck are you?”

Mickey stilled and it wouldn't take a psychic to guess it was his father's voice.

“Coming pops!” he yelled back after getting himself together. Mickey glanced at Declan one more time, nodded, and grabbed the expensive book, pushing it down, between his back and the waistband of his jeans. He covered it nicely with his shirt. Declan grinned. The boy was fun.

“Accompany your father again if you want to steal some more,” the teen said.

Mickey bit his bottom lip once more. He nodded. 

“Mickey!!” his father called again.

“I… uh, gotta go,” said the dark haired boy, before running outside the room.

Declan smiled, watching him go. He liked the kid, maybe he'd see more of him in the future.

 

***

 

Thirteen years old.

 

Mickey came back from school to find a familiar guest in the living room. Declan was playing games with the older Milkovich siblings, and apparently he was winning.

“I surrender, what the fuck!” groaned Iggy, throwing the control on the floor.

Declan grinned, tugging a strand of longish light brown hair behind one ear. “Not my fault you guys fucking suck.”

Mickey closed the door behind him. Well, more like slammed. Declan’s eyes were immediately on him. “Hey, kiddo.”

The younger teen rolled his eyes. “Don't call me kiddo…”

Iggy and Colin laughed, but Declan only shrugged. “Well, then.  _ Mickey _ , how was school?”

Mickey bit his bottom lip. That damned fluttering feeling he felt in the pit of his stomach whenever the older guy called him by his name. It was unsettling, but also good… It was complicated.

“Boring,” Mickey said, trying to ignore the weird sensation, “Where's mom?”

“Still in bed?” Colin looked at Iggy, who nodded.

“Still? She didn't even make breakfast…” Mickey muttered, obtaining a small smile from Declan. Yeah, he was a boy who cared about his mommy, fuck off.

“Let her sleep, think pops got rough with her last night,” said Iggy.

Yeah, Terry certainly had gotten rough with her. Mickey had heard screams. Then moans. Finally, silence.

“I'll just go check.” Deaf to his brothers’ protests, Mickey headed for his parents’ bedroom and opened the door, trying to make as less sound as possible. There was a lump of sheets on the bed and he got closer. His mother was giving him her back and he lightly placed a hand on top of her shoulder. The skin was bare. And cold.

His heart, which had been beating like crazy while close to Declan, became still, or at least that was how Mickey perceived it.

“Mom?”

He hated how his voice sounded weak, and fearful. Yet he couldn't help it. 

She didn't wake up at his call, so Mickey shook her a little. A little more. Putting more strength.

Crying.

“Mom?”

Mickey wasn't aware that he was crying out loud. His eyes were set on his mother's mouth and the vomit close to it; the syringe. Mickey didn't even notice his brothers barging in, shouting and pushing him aside; or their own crying, their useless attempts at waking their mother up.

What Mickey remembered was Declan taking him away from the bedroom; Declan’s arms around him; Declan whispering reassuring, sweet words in his ears; Declan’s lips on his wet ones. For about one second, Mickey forgot about what was happening in the bedroom, tasting tears and Declan in his mouth. 

His first kiss happened the same day his mother died.

 

***

 

Almost fourteen years old.

 

Declan kissed him. He did other things to him too. Yet he hadn't fucked him once. He also had a girlfriend, Ashley, a fucking skank the boss had introduced to him.

Mickey didn't care. He didn't, really. Why the fuck would he. They were men, they needed women. That’s how it went, right?

What he felt when we was with Declan didn't matter in the end. The shivering running through his body whenever the boy touched his skin, the accelerated beating of his heart, the fluttering in his stomach, the way Declan would say his name, like he belonged to him. As lame as it was, Mickey basked in the feeling of belonging to someone, because they  _ had chosen  _ him.

But now there was a girl in the picture, about Declan’s age, and Mickey was supposed to step aside, whatever he and Declan had going on together.

Still, that didn't justify Declan bringing the slut over. The nice couple was in the living room with other Milkovich brothers, while Mickey was pacing in his room, not sure of what to do.

Was he supposed to go to the living room and behave as if he and Declan were nothing to each other? As if he liked his girl?

He hated her fucking guts.

Mickey took a breath and opted to at least stay in the same room as everyone else. He opened the door and the muffled laughs he had heard from the isolation of his bedroom were now louder. And higher. That skank had a really high pitch voice. How could Declan endure her voice? She sounded like a strangled cat.

He leaned against a wall, observing the scene in front of him. Not his brothers, Mickey completely ignored them, but Declan and the girl. His girl. Declan’s fucking girl. 

“Hey, Mickey. Nice of you to join us,” Declan said, as soon as he noticed the frowning boy glaring at their direction.

Mickey shrugged. 

“You're Mickey, right? The youngest brother,” the skank asked, smiling at him. He felt the need to puke.

“What if I am?” he grunted back. Mickey’s eyes were fixed on her hand on Declan’s knee. Spread fingers. And  _ her boyfriend _ wasn't swatting it away.

She just chuckled. She  _ fucking _ chuckled. “Nothing, really. He told me about you and I was curious to see this little ball of grumpiness and anger he described.”

Iggy and Colin laughed at the description, but Mickey stilled. His fingers rolling into fists. 

A ball of grumpiness and anger? What the fuck?! His eyes turned to Declan, who smirked with a hint of amusement in his eyes. 

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” Mickey snapped. 

Instead of taking him seriously, his brothers continued laughing and the skank joined them.

“You were right, Duckie!” she exclaimed. “He's a grumpy cat, alright.”

Mickey’s eyes widened. He hated everything about it. Declan had called him Grumpy Cat sometimes, but he was allowed to. Who was she to call him that? Someone who also called Declan  _ Duckie _ ? It was a stupid fucking nickname, why wasn't Declan say anything? Everybody, even Mickey, used his full name. Dec, sometimes.

She was a bitch, that's what she was.

Yet Declan seemed okay with it. He had a seemingly constant grin going on and was letting the bitch talk. Mickey looked at him and he hated that his glance probably seemed needy and insecure. As if he wanted Declan to side with him in whatever imaginary fight he was having with the girlfriend.

Declan remained neutral.

“Fuck you,” Mickey sputtered out. He turned around and went back to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. The boy collapsed on the bed.

He didn't care. He didn't care. He didn't care-

The door opened and Declan came in, without bothering to ask if it was okay or not. He simply sat at the end of the bed, his fingers tracing Mickey’s calf.

“What are you angry about now, kiddo?”

Mickey huffed. “‘m not a kiddo…” he muttered, not moving from his position

“Oh really? ‘cause your jealous fit seemed pretty childish to me,” Declan said. Still, his fingers didn't stop caressing the younger boy’s skin. 

“Who the fuck’s jealous?!” Mickey snapped, twisting his neck to glare at Declan. He might appear menacing to the other neighborhood kids, but not to Declan, who smiled and kissed him on the lips.

“You are,” he said, as soon as he pulled back. Mickey’s blue eyes widened in stupor.

“Not true…”

“Really,” Declan said, not convinced. “Then why are you behaving like a little shit with Siobhan?”

“‘Cause she's a bitch!” he shouted. Then he realized they could probably hear him from the living room, so he toned it down. “She calls you Duckie- what fucked up nickname is Duckie anyway?- and she puts her fucking hand on you and you fucking let her.”

Declan appeared amused, but what he did was to grab a hold of Mickey’s head and push it down against the mattress. “You can't call my girlfriend a bitch. Not when you're a jealous bitch yourself. She can't put her hand on me? We fuck, Mickey. Her fucking hands go all over me, even over places you're too scared of touching ‘cause your daddy thinks it's bad. She uses her tongue too, you know. I fuck her mouth with my cock whenever I want and she takes it. And she wants me to give her more and I fuck her cunt. I fuck her ass. So yeah,  _ kiddo _ , she can touch me as she damn pleases and I let her and you can't say shit about it…” Declan’s hand loosened his strong grip on Mickey, enough for the boy to raise his head a little. “Well, unless you want to take her place.”

Mickey swallowed, something difficult from the position he was forced into. 

_ Take her place… _

Mickey would be lying if he had never thought about-  _ Fuck _ , he had already a half chub between his legs as a reaction to Declan’s words. 

But what could he do? He wasn't fourteen yet and talking about cocks and fucks made his blood run faster to his lower parts.

Yet Declan was asking him to do something he still couldn't accept. He was asking Mickey to be a faggot. 

Mickey wasn't a goddamn faggot, he couldn't be one or his father would've killed him. He knew that much.

“I ain't a fag,” he said.

Declan scoffed and lifted his hand from Mickey’s head, to flip the boy on his back and get on top of him instead. “You ain't a fag, huh?” he mocked him. He then placed one hand on Mickey’s growing erection. 

Mickey blushed and looked away. “I-I can't…”

“Sure you can,” Declan said. He put some pressure on Mickey’s groin. The younger boy had to stifle a moan between his lips. “You mean you wouldn't like my mouth on you? Here? You wouldn't love to have my cock in you? I'd open you really nicely with my fingers…”

Mickey bit his bottom lip bloody. As if he wouldn't loved it. He wanted all of that. But it was wrong, so wrong.

“Please, don't…” Mickey whispered, his dick fully erect now. He wanted it, but he couldn't want it. It was too fucking much. Confusing. Scary.

This time Declan obeyed. He lifted his hand, causing Mickey to instinctively whine at the lost contract, and stood up.

“You don't want to take her place, you don't get to bitch about her,” he said, opening the door. “I like you, kiddo, but you're not worth the effort.”

Before Mickey could respond, Declan exited the room. He closed the door, not looking back at the younger boy with tears rolling down his cheeks.

 

_ Take her place _

_ Take her place _

_ Take her fucking place! _

Mickey wasn't sleeping well these days. Not when his mind would drift to thoughts of Declan. Declan and that skank. Declan and that skank fucking their brains out. 

It was driving him mad.

He didn't want that fucking slut touching Declan. Mickey was there first. Declan had kissed him first. Declan was…

Declan was fucking his.

_ Declan Declan Declan. _

His mind was full of that name. But what the older boy was asking of him was wrong. On so many fucking levels. They had kissed so many times and it had been too good for Mickey to stop. Declan had touched Mickey and kissed more of his skin, but that had been it. Every time Declan had hinted at taking things further, Mickey would go still, or get angry, or cry. Because he shouldn't like it. He should find it disgusting and abnormal. That was what his father thought.

Declan had been understanding at first, but now he had a girlfriend and he could fuck her whenever he felt like it. She wouldn't cry if he probed her asshole with a finger. She was allowed to enjoy it.

But Mickey…

Mickey was so fucking confused.  Scared.

And jealous.

He could admit to such a feeling only when he was alone, during that short moment where he didn't feel ashamed of who he was, of what he liked.

He wanted to take her place alright. He wanted to fucking kill that bitch. He wanted Declan for himself. 

 

It happened rather abruptly, when Mickey took a decision.

Declan had left the Milkovich house to go see his girlfriend.

Mickey followed him, trying to be as discreet as possible. He had even taken his family's car,  _ which  _ he was still a few years short of being allowed to use. Declan drove North and so did Mickey. At one point he thought that maybe the other boy knew he was being followed, since his car would slow down every time Mickey nearly lost sight of it.

Declan parked in one of those couple spots, where they could get down and dirty without people seeing them. Soon enough, Mickey saw the bitch walking towards him, getting in the car. She kissed him passionately and that was it.

When Declan pushed down their seats, Mickey lost it. He got out of the car, slamming the door without a care, and he was dragging the skank out of Declan’s car the moment later.

“You bitch! Stay the fuck away from him, you hear me?!” he yelled at her, who was now with her ass on the ground.

She recognized him and she looked confused. “Mickey, what's going on?”

Instead of glancing at her, Mickey watched Declan as he climbed out of the car and walked towards him, an unreadable expression on his face. Mickey’s first instinct was to justify his action.

“She… uh… can't do that, I-”

“Yeah, Mickey. What's going on?” Declan interrupted him. “She really didn't do anything.”

Mickey opened his mouth to talk, but not a sound came out. He'd like to know too, what was going on.

The girl stood up and she winced at her grazed knee. “Look what you did, are you crazy?” she asked, now towering over the younger boy with her height.

Mickey bit at the corner of his mouth, he shouldn't have come, why the hell had he followed Declan? And why the hell was the guy just watching the scene with his arms crossed, not saying anything?

Then she shoved him with her manicured fingers. “What are you? A faggot? You got a hard on for my man? Well, sorry to disappoint you, missy, but he's mine so f-"

She didn't get to finish her sentence, because Mickey’s fist came in close, painful contact with her mouth. He hit her hard, and she was now covering her face with both hands. But Mickey’s rage didn't end there. He kicked her in the shin, to make her fall down and be the one to tower over her. He kicked her again, this time against her belly, because he could.

She cried in pain, and that stopped Mickey. There was a voice ringing in his head, a familiar and beloved voice, belonging to his childhood.

_ You don't hit girls, ever. You understand, Mickey Milkovich? _

His mother. She had scolded him after he'd hit his younger sister Mandy and she'd gone crying to their mom. The words had stuck, especially after the departure of Helena Milkovich. He had never hit Mandy again, as well as any other girl.

Now instead, he had just punched and kicked a girl. There was blood on her face, a broken nose, probably, and she was clutching at her belly as if she was suffering an excruciating pain.

“Uh…” She had called him a faggot, but she was only a girl who couldn't fight for herself. Mickey’s mother would be so angry at him right now. “I'm…”

He motioned to help her get up, but Declan intervened.

“You're not trying to help her now, are you?” he asked, stepping next to Mickey. The younger boy looked at him in confusion. 

“But I hit her…”

“You did. Why?” Declan wasn't even looking at his girlfriend. His eyes were glued on Mickey’s.

“Because…” Mickey licked his bottom lip. “Because I don't like her touching you.”

“You want to be the one, then? To touch me and be touched? You know what I want from you.”

Mickey nodded. Yeah, he knew.

“So you want to take her place,” he said, a sense finality in his voice. 

Mickey glanced at her. She was looking at them, blood from her nose and her upper lip. 

Before he could answer, the girl had the guts to talk to Declan.

“Duckie, what are you talking about…”

“Shut the fuck up, bitch.” her boyfriend gave her a kick against her chest, shocking her and Mickey both. “I want to hear him answer.”

Mickey looked at her, then back again at Declan. The guy wanted an answer and he wanted it now.

“Yes,” he said.

Declan smiled. It wasn't a simple smile, there wasn't only joy in it. There was also satisfaction and arrogance and something that was purely Declan.

“Good.” Declan closed their distance and leaned in to kiss him, but Mickey pulled back. Declan’s look turned menacing. “Is it because of her? I think she's fine with us kissing. Isn't it true, Siobhan?”

The girl quickly nodded, she was scared as fuck.

“See?” he told Mickey, but all the younger boy saw was the girl getting up and trying to escape to her own car. Declan saw that too. “That fucking cunt…”

Declan had long legs; she was wearing high heels. He got to her in no time. He caught her by her shoulder and shoved her on the ground.

“Kick her, Mickey,” Declan said, his hand in her hair, pulling at it. Mickey shook his head.

“N-no, I… she learned her lesson,” he stuttered. He didn't want to beat her again. He couldn't screw again with his mother's words.

“She disrespected you. Now, you kick her good, or" Declan used his free hand to grab a pocket knife from his pocket and run the blade on her cheek. “Or I swear I'll use it on her, give her a nice smile.”

“But-"

“You don't gotta worry about the bitch. Her father's just the fucking gardner at my place. He won't say shit,” Declan assured. As if that was the problem. The girl looked at Mickey with wide, fearful eyes. Her face was already caked with blood, but much more was going to be spilled if Declan had carved a Glasgow Smile into her skin. The boy had always had a strange fascination with that particular punishment.

Mickey stopped thinking. 

He kicked her again against her abdomen. 

Declan loosened his grip on her hair, letting her collapse.

Mickey kicked. Kicked once more. 

_ You don't hit girls, ever. You understand, Mickey Milkovich? _

Not this time, mother.

A couple broken ribs, a broken nose… it was always better than having her mouth sliced up to her ears. Mickey then just forgot caring about it, just chased after blood and pain.

It was Declan himself who stopped him. He caught him by the waist and pulled him against his chest. He made Mickey turn his head enough for them to kiss. Hard.

“Let's go, Mickey,” he said, biting the younger boy's bottom lip. Mickey nodded.

They left the ex girlfriend there, close to her car, but in too much of a bad shape to drive. Mickey forced himself not to look back at her.

Declan drove them to a spot not that far from there and shoved Mickey onto the backseat. He was soon on top of him, a predatory glimmer in his eyes. Mickey knew what was coming as he was aware there was no denying it this time.

It hurt. It fucking hurt.

Yet it was good too.

It was liberating. Declan thrust inside him hard. He didn't waste too much time prepping him, but Mickey welcomed the burn. Because he was giving Declan what he desired. Because Declan  _ desired _ him. Because watching his face as he was coming made Mickey proud.

It hurt, Mickey bled a little, but he also had blood on his knuckles and on his shoes. Blood was good. Declan was his.

“See? Now you're my bitch,” Declan said, kissing him again.

Mickey couldn't really deny that.

 

***

 

Fifteen years old.

 

Mickey flexed his knuckles, staring in admiration at his freshly inked tattoo. 

FUCK U-UP, a letter for each knuckle.

It was fucking badass and Mickey was proud of it. He had inked it himself and his brothers had asked him to ink the same design on them.

But there was another tattoo, one he hadn't show anybody yet. One that was made for intimacy. For only another person to see.

Mickey brought a hand to his heart where, under the shirt, were inked the initials D.D.. Declan Donnelly. 

They had been fucking for more than a year and Mickey was completely whipped. Declan sometimes was rough, but he would also be gentle. Mickey accepted all his moods and took what he could. 

What he loved the most was how different Declan behaved with the others in comparison with how he was with Mickey. It was clear Declan cared about him.

It was love.

Mickey had let go of his worry about his masculinity. He knew he was Declan’s bitch anyway. But the older guy had also told him he loved him, several times during sex. He loved it even more when Mickey would accept to try something new Declan wanted to experiment with him.

His father didn't know and so his brothers. He was with Iggy and Colin and all three of them were already showing how much meaning held their tattoo. They were punching some thugs’ faces that still had to pay for their cocaine. It was nice.

So nice that he accepted his brothers’ invitation to go get themselves a beer.

That turned into two. Then three…

Mickey ended up having fun with his older brothers and didn't check his cell phone.

He missed twenty-three calls. 

When they got back home, there was someone waiting for Mickey, sitting on his creaky bed. The guy's jaw was clenched and a big, black aurea was radiating from him.

“Declan…”

His boyfriend looked at him with his piercing grey eyes. Mickey stopped in his tracks.

“Oh, look who's here,” Declan said. “You finally saw my calls?”

Mickey’s lost expression told him that he had not.

“I'm sorry, Dec. I was out with my brothers and we lost track of time…” Mickey started, but Declan didn't seem interested. He stood up and closed their distance, pushing Mickey against the wall and grabbing his wrists with his own above the younger boy's head.

“What's this shit?” Declan asked, catching Mickey off guard. “ _ Fuck u-up _ , huh? Think you're such a tough guy now?”

Mickey tried to answer, but Declan smashed his head against one of his metal band posters.

“Well, let me tell you something. You’re not. You’re mine and when I call you fucking answer. Is it clear enough or are you too stupid to get it?” Declan hissed.

“No, I-"

Declan didn't let him finish because, with his crushing grip around Mickey’s wrists, he dragged the boy to the floor. He quickly got on top of him, sitting on his back.

“Fuck. I had a bad day with my prick of a father and I want to see you and you? You're out having fun with your retarded brothers,” he said, bending the younger boy's wrists at an unnatural angle. 

“Dec… please…” Mickey muttered. It wasn't the first time Declan got mad at his boyfriend and by now Mickey had learned that in this case, struggling was useless and he should just accept whatever Declan wanted to do to him.

“Getting shitty tattoos…” Declan muttered. He kept on bending the wrists, to the point where one snapped and Mickey would've cried out in pain, if he didn't have his mouth pressed against the floor. His brothers were probably getting high in the basement, he was alone with Declan.

“Fuck… I'm sorry, please…” Mickey begged. Sometimes begging worked. This time, however, Declan pushed Mickey’s jeans and boxers down.

He spit on his fingers and pushed them brusquely inside his asshole. Mickey liked it rough, but this was just painful. Yet he kept his lips against the tiles, willing himself to endure in silence. 

“At least you're good for something,” said Declan, before entering him.

 

Declan was smoking his post-coitus cigarette, leaning his back against the bed. He was caressing Mickey’s raven hair with his other hand.

His boyfriend felt better now, and Mickey was good with that. He hurt him, but now it was all finished and Declan was nice to him again.

“Answer your calls next time, yeah? Don't make me become angry,” Declan said, taking a drag. Mickey nodded under his boyfriend's hand.

“Sorry…” he muttered.

“Yeah, yeah. All forgiven.” Declan passed him the half-burned cigarette and Mickey sat down, inhaling the comforting nicotine.

“There's… there's another tattoo,” Mickey said, once he mustered enough courage.

Declan raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What kind of nonsense you inked?”

Mickey rubbed at his bottom lip with his thumb. “It's not nonsense…”

He took a breath and raised up his shirt to his collar bones, enough to let Declan see the letters on his chest.

“D.D.” Declan read. He touched the tattoo with gentle fingers, a hint of a smile on his lips. “I like this one. On your heart.”

It made Mickey happy. He was glad he had endured the roughness from before. He was glad because now Declan leaned in to kiss him on the tattoo, sweetly. 

“I love you too, Mickey,” he whispered against his skin, wet from the kiss. “You're mine.”

Mickey nodded, hugging his boyfriend close.

 

***

 

Seventeen years old.

 

Mickey was still sleeping in his bed, when a strong hand grabbed him by his hair.

“Wake up fucking faggot!” Terry growled. Mickey had just opened his eyes that his father was already punching him in the face.

“Pops, wha-"

“You fucking shut up you pole smoking queer!” another jab. Mickey’s eyes widened, his father's slurs finally registering in his now awake mind. “Yeah, you got that right, I know about you and that fucking Irish of yours. Couldn't do much before, but guess what. His father's dead and your little boyfriend got no power no more!”

Terry was about to punch him again, but mickey headbutted him, putting some distance between them. What the fuck was Terry talking about? The old boss was dead? Declan was out of the games? Fuck, Terry had been aware he was gay all along? Since when?

“Fuck…” Terry touched his bloody nose. “I'll fucking kill ya, boy!”

His father didn't lose any more time, he charged after Mickey like a bull and the boy was dragged down, Terry on top of him. But Mickey wasn't going to just take the hits from his father. He knelt him in the groins and he quickly changed their positions, now becoming the one with the upper hand.

It didn't last for long, because Mickey might be younger and faster, but Terry was bigger and stronger than his son. Soon enough Mickey found himself caged by his father's knees, getting his face smashed by Terry’s punches.

Mickey was pretty sure that was the end of him. It had been all so good lately, with Declan in a constant good mood. It felt pretty lame to die under his father’s jabs, feeling his bladder full. Maybe he'd piss himself when he'd die.

Terry had his arm raised to punch him another time, when he was stopped by someone, who twisted his arm behind his back.

“Way to go, Terry. Demonstrating how much you love your son?” asked Declan. Mickey heard the cocking of a gun and squinted his eyes to see his boyfriend holding a gun to his father's left temple. 

“You, fucking… how?” Terry asked, now forced in his knees. Declan smirked.

“The boss is dead, long live the boss,” he said. “By the way, I'm the new boss. Apparently I have lots of associates on my sides.”

Terry motioned to shake his head, but the gun made it impossible. “No, it's not possible… they called me. They say you're out.”

Declan snorted. “Yeah, that's what I told them to tell you. Wanted to see how you'd behave. Bad, just as I expected.”

Mickey met his boyfriend's eyes, which were scanning his mangled face. Declan might hurt him, but he'd always make sure nobody would even dare to do the same. Even his father had attacked Mickey only when he'd been sure the Donnelly family couldn't retaliate.

“You don't tell me how to treat my fucking son, you-” 

Declan pistol-whipped him on the jaw. “He's my fucking boyfriend and you were itching to finally hurt him, don't you? Well, you had your chance. Now you die.”

Mickey knew Declan was serious. He had never feared to pull the trigger. 

“Or, Mickey want to do the honours? I'll free you of your father, that's what I promised when we first met.” Declan waited for Mickey’s answer, but in that moment the younger boy didn't know what he wanted. He hated his father, yet he loved him too, he had tried to make him proud of him. But his father thought he was an abomination, Terry hated him.

Still, he knew he couldn't kill his own father.

Declan understood that and did it for him. He shot Terry right in his forehead, no sound coming from the gun with the silencer. 

Mickey watched as his father collapsed on the floor, eyes empty of hatred. Empty of life.

Declan stretched out a hand to him. “Come, Mickey. I've been taking care of you and I'll continue protecting you. I'm your family now.”

His grey eyes pierced into Mickey’s blue ones. The younger boy accepted his hand. Yeah, now he completely belonged to Declan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope I didn't trigger you or anything. If I did, please tell me which tags I should add.
> 
> ALSO  
> Please, tell me which parts of the WYL story would you like to read. The end? First time? Something else?
> 
> Love comments and love kudos
> 
> Bye!


	6. Don't kiss me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even in that moment, Mickey could feel it on his skin. Ian was looking at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, sorry for the wait!  
> It's summer and I'm lazy. I'll write more in September I hope:)

Mickey had noticed the little changes. Lingering gazes, taking too many liberties, helping when not needed. That was Curtis, and how he had gradually come to behave towards him.

Even in that moment, Mickey could feel it on his skin. Curtis was looking at him.

The redhead was sitting on the stool by the counter, apparently busy trying to peel an apple from the top to the bottom in only one slide of the knife. Doing such a thing required attention, yet Mickey was aware that Curtis' focus was on him. He had goosebumps and his hair were sticking out as if electricity had hit them.

Mickey wondered about Curtis' expression. Was he serious? Was he smirking?

He wanted to know Curtis' thoughts.

“Dammit!”   
  
Mickey twisted his head to see Curtis, who had just cursed. The redhead was clutching his thumb, now streaked with blood.

A man entered in the kitchen, a cautious look on his face, until he saw what was actually going on. He snorted, looking at Curtis.

“Fuck, Callahan. From the way you cried out I thought they were slaughtering you or some shit,” the man sniggered. “Such a pussy.”

Curtis was already by the sink, cleaning up his hand. “Yeah, yeah. Fuck you, Anton.”

Anton just shook his head and went back to his position outside the kitchen. Declan had always man patrolling inside and outside the house.

Not Curtis, though. The redhead was Mickey’s assigned driver and was in the main kitchen just to get himself something to eat.

“Here,” Mickey said, handing him a towel. The redhead took it and pressed it against his skin to stop the bleeding.

“Thanks,” he said. “Such a stupid cut, but fuck if it bleeds.”

“That's what you get when you try to show off,” Mickey scoffed.

Curtis raised his eyebrows in surprise, but then he smirked. “You noticed?”

Mickey opened his mouth to reply, but was taken aback by Curtis’ smile. That moment he realized he had practically admitted he had been watching him too. Fuck.

“Uh… yeah,” Mickey grumbled. “I mean, I wanted to see if you could peel the apple in one cut. But I guess you've managed is to slice your skin too.”

Curtis chuckled.

“Yeah… I guess so,” Ian said. “I was just too distracted.”

Mickey swallowed. He knew he couldn't ask about the cause of his distraction. Because he couldn't listen to the answer. It was dangerous.

Curtis wasn't waiting for his question, though. “I was distracted-”

“Curtis! Just the man I’ve been looking for,” Declan entered the room, interrupting whatever was happening between the two other men. “Pete is ill. You'll take me and Mickey to the Wave tonight.”

Curtis nodded. It was clear as a day that the redhead wanted to ask questions, but he knew by now not to ask more information than what Declan was willing to give. Mickey knew his boyfriend had to meet some IRA people and would keep the secret, just as always.

“Good.”

Declan wrapped an arm around Mickey’s waist, gripping tightly at his side. 

“Try to be a nice little driver and I could consider employing your services when Pete is absent,” he said. “Now, if you'll excuse us…”

Declan left with Mickey, leaving the redhead alone in the kitchen.

 

***

 

The drive to the club was awkward to say the least. Ian couldn't help but steal glances at Mickey, who sat on the backseat with Declan. 

The older man had his fingers spread on his boyfriend's knee, looking outside the window; Mickey was instead checking something on his phone.

That and catching Ian's glances. 

Every time he did, Ian would immediately turn to look ahead on the street, his heart pumping loudly in his chest. He wondered how Declan couldn't hear the beating sound in the silence of the car.

Ian pulled over, letting the two men climb outside. Declan walked towards the club and Mickey followed soon after, but not without looking back at Ian once.

Ian watched him go, disappearing into the club. 

The redhead sighed. He was aware he shouldn't be so gone on Mickey. The man was unavailable and part of the world Ian had the task of taking down. Whatever he felt for the blue-eyed man was dangerous.

It didn't matter that Mickey was tough and cute at the same time, that Ian thought that Mickey’s grumpiness was adorable. That when Mickey smiled it made the butterflies in Ian's stomach flutter like crazy.

Fuck.    
  
Why would he always let things become so complicated? Apparently Ian wasn't able to do simple.   
  
And Mickey was a complicated, fascinating, beautiful man.    
  
Ian shook his head and opened the door. He knew he was supposed to stay in the car, but he wasn't just a driver, was he?   
  
Declan was meeting some people in the club and Ian needed to monitor the situation, see if he recognized a few faces. If he was in luck, maybe even get enough proof to help solidify the case against the mob fucker.   
  
Ian entered the club, his attentive eyes scanning the room even in spite of the psychedelic lights. The music was throbbing into his ears, making him remember his days undercover as a go-go boy. Finally, he zeroed on Declan, talking to a bunch of people, half of which Ian recognised by the photos the ATF had attached on the wall. The people Declan was with in that moment were some of his alleged sellers. IRA.

He should be paying attention to them and only them. He took some photos, yes, but his attention shifted on Mickey more than once. Nobody in that group had noticed Ian and the redhead was taking advantage of that, more to observe the dark haired man than the ones he was supposed to.

Mickey’s eyes were sad, his whole expression was. Ian so wished to be able to wipe all the sadness away. Instead, he could only watch Mickey being isolated by the group in conversation, ordering drinks in quick succession and gulping them down in a short time.

Then Ian watched Mickey having an argument with Declan. Mickey standing up and his boyfriend grabbing his wrist with enough strength the other man yelped a little. Mickey said something to Declan; it was probably an apology because the boss nodded and let Mickey go.

Ian knew he should have stayed there, maybe even get closer to the IRA members. 

What he did instead was to follow Mickey, who was heading to the bathrooms. He was clearly in distress.

Ian should stay put, not let Mickey see him.

“Mickey,” he called for him, grabbing him by his arm, lightly.

Mickey turned around to look at Ian, his brows furrowed.

“The fuck are you doing here?” he asked. Mickey had to clear his throat before speaking, and even then his voice sounded raspy, unsteady. Ian took in his face, his beautiful eyes that appeared to glisten as if the man had been on the verge of crying. Even in such a state, Mickey knew Ian -well, Curtis- was not supposed to be inside the club.

“Uh… I needed a drink,” was Ian’s lame excuse. He soon released Mickey’s arm.

Mickey brushed the tip of his nose. “You can't drink, you're the fucking driver.”

“Just a glass of water, really. I forgot to bring a bottle with me, earlier.”

The shorter man nodded. “Whatever. Gotta go take a leak so…”

He motioned to move, but once again the redhead stopped him, this time using words.

“What's wrong?”

Mickey shook his head. “Nothing's wrong.”

Nothing? Ian knew the other man well enough to realize that Mickey wasn't alright, that even one word from Declan could be the cause of great affliction for him.

So, for a moment he forgot his place. “Bullshit.” 

“What have you just said?” Mickey snapped.  _ Fuck _ . Ian should've known the shorter man wouldn't have let it go. Not when he was upset and needed to get angry at something or someone.

Yet this time Ian wasn't taking any of it. Not when there was also so much sadness in Mickey’s eyes.

“I said bullshit,” Ian repeated, straightening his shoulders.

Mickey clenched his jaw. “Who the fuck do you think you are, Callahan? Huh?” 

Mickey came closer, his posture and glare menacing. Someone else might have taken a step back. But not Ian, who instead locked their eyes and made their chests bump against each others.

“I'm just concerned about you, Mickey,” Ian said, his tone of voice heavy with feelings. He was worried for the man who inhabited so many of his dreams. He hated to see him hurt, physically or emotionally.

Mickey couldn't bear their eye contact for too long and lowered his gaze, but Ian noticed the extra second those blue eyes lingered on his own lips. 

Ian made rushed decisions sometimes. He was the kind of guy who let his emotions to guide him. A dangerous feature for someone in his line of work. Yet, when he followed his bravery, he was compensated with a medal, an appreciation by his bosses. 

Not this time, though.

Ian reacted by resting his hands on Mickey’s cheeks and launching himself at those perfect plump lips, pressing them against his own in a searing, hard kiss.

“What the fuck!” Mickey exclaimed, shoving Ian back. The shorter man brought for a second a hand to his mouth, shocked. “You, you…”

Ian opened his mouth to talk, to apologize. But then he saw it. Mickey undeniably licking his lips, his eyes flicking once again to Ian's mouth. 

Desire.

That was what Ian saw. It lasted for a short moment, then Mickey was running towards one of the exit doors.

Ian followed without even thinking about it.

They were in a back alley, nothing but one streetlight in the distance to let them see their surroundings.

To let Ian observe Mickey. So beautiful, so pale; scared and thrilled at the same time. His breathing was faster and heavier than before.

The rhythm matched Ian's.

The redhead let rationality fly out of the window when he approached Mickey again, pressing their mouths against each other.

This time Mickey didn't shove him away and Ian felt him shiver under his hands. It wasn't fear, or cold. It was excitation.

Ian was quick at pinning Mickey against the nearby wall, sprayed with ugly graffiti. Mickey accepted the gesture and his hands moved to Ian's waist. Ian groaned and tried to kiss Mickey one more time, but the man shook his head.

“Don't kiss me,” he said, moving his fingers to unbuckle Ian's belt. The redhead forgot about the denied kiss in order to reciprocate on Mickey’s own belt, tugging the man's slacks down.

He felt it.

He was hard and Mickey was too.

It wasn't an hallucination born from having imagined it too many times. It was real and it was hot and- and it was so good.

Mickey had one leg hooked against Ian's waist and the taller man didn't lose any more time settling himself between his legs.

“Lube. My pants,” Mickey muttered, his face against Ian's neck.

Ian followed his instructions, also pulling a condom wrapper out of his own pockets. He couldn't believe this was actually happening, but he wasn't going to look at the horse in the mouth. 

Mickey had turned his back to Ian in the meantime, placing both of his hands against the wall. Ian let his eyes roam on that gorgeous body, that firm fucking ass, perfectly round shaped. 

The redhead went to work, fingering Mickey open. The shorter man was moaning, but not looking at him and Ian wanted to see, to lose himself in those blue eyes of his.

So he did. He made Mickey turn back again, hoisting him up against the wall. The shorter man whined, but Ian was soon inside him, ending any further protests, all turned into moans and gasps. 

Mickey had one last defense to pull, though, when Ian went again for his lips.

“Don't… don't kiss me…” he muttered again. A whisper against Ian's mouth.

Ian decided to ignore it. He kissed Mickey, harsh and passionate and felt Mickey respond to it.

So Ian kept on thrusting in him, and kiss him and the blue eyed man didn't deny him anything, just uttering some feeble words from time to time; telling him not to kiss him, that it was wrong, that they shouldn't.

And then Mickey came with a choked sound with Ian following him soon after.

Mickey started to struggle in his arms after they had finished, pushing Ian off of him.

He put on his slacks in silence, under Ian's stare, but when the redhead opened his mouth to talk, he held one hand.

“This- this is not gonna happen again,” Mickey said.

Not waiting for Ian's answer, the shorter man got back inside the club.

Ian remained outside for a little while longer, the feeling of Mickey pressed against him still so vivid on his skin. In his thoughts. 

That had been better than he'd ever imagined, but it left Ian with a new thirst. He wanted it to happen again.

He wanted Mickey for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next... I guess something in the future:) After Ian's revealed identity


	7. I need him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey wakes up in a hospital room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is.... well this is the final chapter.  
> BUT  
> since it's not chronological, you'll get two chapters more (set in the past), and maybe, if I feel like it, an epilogue :)

Light. It breached the safer darkness.

 

Panic. Need to escape.

 

“So that's how you betray me, Mickey? Me?”

 

A blade. Shiny. 

 

Fear. I loved you.

 

“You are mine!”

 

Colours. Red. Red. Red.

Suddenly, blank.

Black.

 

Pain. No more pain.

 

“Mick! Please answer, please tell me you're alive…”

 

I love you.

 

***

 

Even before opening his eyes, Mickey  _ felt _ it. Someone was with him, taking his hand in theirs. He would recognize those long, kind fingers anywhere. Ian's.

He must've moved, suggesting he was awake, because Ian spoke.

“Hey… Mick?”

It was but a whisper, it conveyed hope and worry. Mickey never intended to make his redhead worried.

He opened his eyes, just a bit. He felt his eyelids all sticky. His mouth was none of the better. It tasted as if a rat had died and decomposed in there. Ew. 

Still, when his eyes met Ian's, a smile took shape on his charred lips.

The hint of the smile didn't last for long, though. A shot of pain ran through his face. Fuck, his whole body.

He ached everywhere. How was it even possible to feel such pain all of a sudden? His first instinct at the pain was to move, but he was making it even worse.

“Hey! Hey! Calm down!” Ian exclaimed, getting up. The redhead tried to place his hands on him as gently as possible, to steady him. “Take a deep breath. One…”

Mickey did as he was told and tried to calm down. Eventually, he stopped fidgeting.

He tried to speak, but apart from the pain, he realized his mouth was too dry to talk. Ian seemed to understand it.

“Wait a sec,” he said. He detached himself from Mickey and shuffled through some stuff to retrieve a bottle of water. He placed a straw inside it. “Okay, here we go.”

The straw touched Mickey’s lips, which opened enough to sip at the water through it. 

_ Finally _ . The water did wonders to Mickey’s dry mouth.

“Thanks,” the man muttered once he finished drinking.

Ian nodded and placed the bottle on what now Mickey could see was a white bedside table. And they were clearly in a hospital room.

He pressed his fingers to massage his eyelids, but he discovered he couldn't open one entirely, it actually stung to try forcing it open. He wanted to be awake, but at the same time he wished for his pain to diminish.

“Want me to click it?” Ian asked, lifting a hand-held button. “Morphine.”

Mickey was tempted, but he moved one hand, tangling his fingers with Ian's. That was better.

“First I need-" he cleared his throat, his voice was raspy at best. “I need to know what happened.”

Ian tightened his lips. 

“Ian…”

“You sure you don't want to sleep a little more, first?”

Mickey would've rolled his eyes if he didn't feel so much in pain. But he managed to shook his head.

“Why am I in a hospital?” he croaked. “I remember you were supposed to lead the raid- no, wait. The night before I was leaving and Dec…”

Declan had found out.

Mickey felt a shiver running through his spine as he thought of what had happened before the world had become black. He had been supposed to flee the house and meet with Ian before the planned ATF raid at dawn. But he hadn't made it. Declan had barged in, and he knew. He fucking  _ knew _ what Mickey had done and he was ready to kill him. After that, Mickey’s mind couldn't remember.

“Declan- that fucking bastard. Information must have leaked. He got to you before you could come to me,” Ian explained. “When you were taking too long, I went inside the house and I caused the raid to start earlier than intended.”

Oh. He did remember Ian's voice calling for him. And red. So much red.

_ Blood _ . He realized.

“What did he do to me?” Mickey asked as it dawned on him: Declan had really tried to kill him.

His cold grey eyes, turned into madness and fire.

“He did a pretty number on you,” Ian said, but his voice was now broken and Mickey noticed a tear dropping on his freckled cheek. “I thought I lost you, Mick…”

Mickey tightened his grip on Ian's hand, for it was shaking.

Another tear-drop.

Ian was crying and all Mickey could do was accepting Ian's sorrow as his own.

“I'm a die hard,” he tried to lighten the mood, but Ian glared at him.

“‘s not funny,” he hiccuped. He lifted Mickey’s hand to his lips and kissed its palm. “You were laying there, that monster was standing over you… If I'd just arrived a minute later… and you were so pale, Mick. So, so lifeless.”

Mickey traced Ian's wet cheek with his fingers. A caress. “I'm alive, you know.”

Ian nodded, closing his eyes and enjoying the caresses. “I know.”

They spent a few minutes in silence, just feeling the other’s closeness.

“Am I still pretty?” Mickey joked after a while.

“You're still the most beautiful person I ever met,” Ian said, serious. “You'll just look much tougher than ever as soon as your wounds will scar. You could've died for blood loss.”

“Can I see?”

Ian seemed to think about the request, but eventually he got up. “Sure. Just… keep in mind that it looks worse than it actually is, okay?”

Mickey nodded, as Ian grabbed a mirror from the bedside table. “It's not that big, but it's supposed to be for shaving from the bed, uhm…”

Ian gave him the mirror and Mickey used the arm that hurt less to take a look at his state. 

He was  _ purple _ . That was the first thing he could think for describing himself. And heavily bandaged, the pristine white of the gauze tinted with yellow.

His right eye was partially covered with the gauze, and so was his entire right cheek, from the corner of his mouth to his ear. His right temple too, and his jaw was so bruised he couldn't discern his original skin color.

His arm trembled from the effort and Ian took the mirror from him.

“I had worse…” Mickey tried to chuckle, but both his chest and his belly hurt like hell.

“You're a tough cookie, I know,” Ian's mouth corners curled up almost imperceptibly, but he obviously couldn't force himself to smile so he soon gave up. “He was slowly killing you, Mick. Taking his time. When I arrived he'd been working on you for at least a couple of hours.”

Mickey looked at him in disbelief.

“It's true. The doctor told me there was a high chance you couldn't remember the trauma,” Ian explained. “The most relevant damage is the knife wound close to your stomach. They operated on you in a hurry. Then… uh, it's not so deep, but your chest has been carved and, you know, around your tattoo…” 

Ian’s voice had begun to wobble at the end. So he coughed once. “And there are several cuts and bruises practically everywhere.”

Mickey listened to him talking attentively and he felt the pain at each wound as it was mentioned. The one on his chest hurt the most. It reached his heart, even if no surgeon could see it. But Mickey was aware of it and he wondered if the wound there, would ever heal completely.

“Declan?” Mickey asked in a whisper.

“He's alive.” Ian grimaced. “Well, I shot him but the bullet only hit his shoulder. He's awaiting for his trial.”

Declan was still alive. Mickey couldn't understand if he felt relief or anger at the information. Only an unbearable pain.

“Morphine, please,” he requested. Ian leaned down to kiss him, brushing their lips together.

Mickey didn't even notice that the morphine had entered his bloodstream and soon he drifted to sleep.

 

***

 

Next time he woke up, there was no Ian waiting for him. A nurse was changing his bandages on the chest with clean ones. Mickey decided not to look down.

The man noticed his awake status and finished wrapping him up, greeting him a good day. Mickey only grunted and refused the nurse’s offer to help him with the urinal, which he left within reach. He'd do it by himself or he'd ask Ian for such an embarrassing task if anything.

Where was his Firecrotch, anyway?

As soon as the nurse exited the room, someone else took his place. Another unfamiliar face.

“Good to see you awake, Mr. Milkovich,” the stranger said. “I’m Special Agent in Charge Dallas, ATF. How are you feeling?”

“It's Mickey. And where the fuck is Ian?” Mickey barked.

“I think Special Agent Gallagher is currently at home, having a shower, if he has finally listened to me,” Dallas said, nonplussed. “The man stank. But that's what happens since he remained here for four days straight.”

Ian had never left his bedside? But Mickey would be damned if he smiled in front of this man.

“I’m the one in charge of the operation that brought Donnelly to justice. Now we need to make sure he'll rot in jail. We need you, Mickey. Once again.”

Mickey tried to sit on the bed, to be more at eye level with the man, but he found the task impossible. Damn stitches.

“What I gotta do?”

“We have proof, but nobody's talking. We need you to testify.”

Mickey’s eyes widened. Well, as much as his right one was able to.

“Testify? You're fucking kidding me!” 

And to be face-to-face with Declan? 

Those eyes. Those grey eyes. Cruel. Possessive. Betrayed.

“No way. No fucking way.”

The Special Agent remained calm. “I understand. I'm aware of your relationship with Donnelly, but-"

“You don't know shit,” Mickey snapped. 

“Even so. Your presence on the witness stand is crucial. And I assure you, your safety is one of our top priorities. Even now one of our men is guarding your door. You’ll have a PSD, watching over you until your testimony and after you enter the witness protection program, you'll have a new identity and you're going to live far far away from all this mess.”

Mickey let the words sink in, but as he came to understand what was going to happen, there was only one thing in his mind.

“Ian. I want Ian to protect me,” Mickey said, resolutely. 

Dallas frowned. “Well that is impossible. He was undercover and his identity has been compromised. He can't protect you.”

Bullshit. That wasn't true. It couldn't be true. Mickey didn't accept it.

Ian. Where the fuck was Ian?

“I need to see him.”

So that was it? He was leaving him? He had seen Ian cry next to him just that morning!

“I'm sorry, Mickey. But after he's enough rested, he's scheduled for the official interview with our superiors-"

Fuck this!

“I want to see him NOW!”

Mickey shouted loud enough for the guard behind the door to show up. He couldn't give a fuck.

“I wanna talk with that asshole right fucking now or you can shove the testimony and your fucking protection shit up your ass!”

Dallas opened his mouth to argue, but Mickey found in himself the strength to throw the urinal at his face, hitting him on the side of his head. “I'm done talking to you, done!”

He waited with a menacing expression for both of the men to fuck off, Dallas massaging his injured head. Only then he sighed and let anxiety take place in his mind

 

***

 

Was Ian leaving him? For good?

He had had his adrenaline rush with the boss’ side piece and now he was headed to new, intrepid undercover adventures?

Ian had made him fall in love with him, he had made Mickey feel things he’d never thought could even be possible feeling. He had put Mickey back from the clutter of broken pieces Declan had methodically torn apart for so many years, just to destroy him once again.

Maybe Ian’s feeling for him had been fake all along. He had needed Mickey’s collaboration and had made him believe that even he could be worthy. Could have good things.

Mickey needed to cry. And he did. Easy thing to do when nobody but Ian was allowed to be in the room. Every minute that passed was torture for the man, who wanted to hear the truth from Ian himself, and at the same time he dreaded it.

He had thought everything was good between them. That after Declan’s arrest, they would’ve stayed together. That Ian loved him like Mickey loved him.

Lies. All lies.

His tears didn’t seem to stop, but when Mickey heard the sound of the door opening, he tried his best to dry his eyes, staring at the wall.

“Who the fuck is it?” Mickey sniffed.

“It’s me,” Ian closed the door behind him. “My boss told me that you got angry. He compared you to his ex wife. Not sure if that’s a compliment or-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey growled. Ian’s tone of voice was light. Had he already moved on?

He looked at Ian, who seemed to get the heaviness of the situation. Ian shot him a worried look.

“Mick, what’s going on?”

He came to sit next to Mickey, on his usual chair.

Mickey scoffed, but didn’t look at him. He didn’t want to see Ian’s eyes and not find the love he had been so sure existed in them.

“You had your fun, Special Agent?” Mickey asked instead. His voice was dripping with bitterness. “You got your target now. So you can discard me like the piece of trash I am, huh?”

“What?” Ian’s voice raised an octave higher. He seemed genuinely surprised. “Why are you saying that? I love you, Mick.”

“Sure you do. That’s why you don’t want to be on my supposed security detail and you’ll send me in witness protection without so much of a goodbye. At least just tell me you only meant to use me,” the shorter man said. But, before he could add more venom, Ian’s hands reached for the sides of his face, touching them carefully, but managing to force Mickey into looking at him in the eyes.

Green, resolute eyes. They looked so honest.

“I don’t know what my boss said, but you got it wrong,” Ian spoke with clear voice. Mickey wanted to call bullshit on it, but he found himself unable to. He wanted  to listen to this man’s words. He wanted to be proven wrong. “It is true, I can’t be your bodyguard. But that is because I’ll be the one who gets to be protected. With you. I don’t like the situation, but at least I get to stay with you.”

Mickey swallowed. Could it be true?

Green eyes, so pure.

“But- but then, the program…” he insisted. “We won’t be able to see each other again after the trial.”

Ian smiled at him, shaking his head in disbelief. “You really think I’d be able to live without you? I’m a selfish man, Mickey. I don’t only want to know you’re alive somewhere far away. I need to be with you.”

Mickey’s blue eyes widened. He placed one hand on Ian’s chest.

“That means-”

“That I’m entering the program with you. I'm burned anyway, so my superiors accepted. New identities, new lives.” Ian nodded. “ I still don’t know if I’ll be able to continue working for the ATF, but I can do anything if you’re with me.”

Mickey licked his bottom lip. “So you’re mine? Ian, Curtis, what-the-fuck-ever?”

“All yours,” the redhead confirmed.

At that, Mickey let out a huge sigh of relief that he didn’t even know he had been holding. Then he started to laugh. And Ian joined too. Soon the laughter turned into crying and Mickey couldn’t understand for the life of him how this fucker held the power to make him so happy and so sad. 

They kissed, passionately.

Well, as passionately as Mickey could, what with the bandages and the pain.

They still had a long road ahead before putting everything behind. The trial was pending over them, over their happiness and safety. And everything could go wrong. Or just right.

They would have to wait and see. But at least they would do it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSD: Protection Security Detail


	8. The old couch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey waits for Ian in the garage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this one, short piece is set before the raid. It's the one when Mickey chooses between Ian and Declan for good.

Mickey collapsed on the old couch, cursing loudly when one of the damn springs poked at his left ass cheek.

Massaging the injured cheek, he waited for Ian to come back. Mickey had brought a small manila folder and placed it carefully next to him.

Thinking about it, he shouldn't curse at the worn out couch in the garage; that piece of shit furniture had been the receptacle of various encounters between Ian and him. Torrid, passionate ones, if Mickey might add.

He caressed the armrest. After the first time they had had sex at the club, Mickey had tried to avoid Ian -well, Curtis back then- at all costs. And then…

And then it hadn't been possible anymore. He had wanted Ian again, basking in the adoration that the younger man had for him. In the middle of the hot summer, Mickey had taken a decision that he'd been so sure he would've later regretted. The redhead had been so surprised when Mickey had grabbed him by the hand and led him to the privacy of the garage. Ian, his clothes drenched in water and soap from having washed the car, had taken the lead almost immediately.

He had told Mickey he loved him, once they'd finished, bodies sticky and sated. After that time, Ian had never stopped telling him ‘I love you’.

Mickey had yet to say it back.

“You waited long?” 

He heard Ian ask. Mickey looked up at his beautiful redhead and felt all warm and fuzzy inside because of the affectionate expression Ian had for him.

“No, just arrived,” Mickey shook his head. He grabbed the folder and handed it to Ian. “It's all here. All the evidence you need.”

Ian's eyes zeroed on the folder as he took it.

“All here,” he repeated, serious. He came closer, sitting next to Mickey. “Are you sure? This… If we're not careful, Mick. You could be in danger. Fuck, you're already in danger.”

Mickey placed one hand on Ian's cheek. His expression was dead serious as well. “I’m aware of the risks. But I want to do it. For us,” he said, hinting at a smile. “I'm sure.”

Ian leaned forward, kissing him slowly. Sweetly.

“I love you, Mick,” he whispered, his forehead resting against Mickey’s.

“Me too.”

Ian pulled back, surprise evident on his face.

“Yes?”

Mickey was blushing and it was hard to force himself to look at him in the eyes. “Yes. I love you.”

He held no doubt about his feelings for Ian. Ian, who kissed him again. And again.

Soon, the old couch was used again for their pleasure. 

Mickey had to say, he had grown rather fond of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr [JAinsel & the Ships](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/jainsel-and-the-ships)


	9. Frozen peas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set chronologically after chapter 2. Ian helps Mickey and the two become closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> absolutely not edited

After the first couple of weeks, Ian had begun to feel more confident. Not on the success of his mission, since the boss had yet to trust him. Rather on himself not getting discovered and then killed. Or killed and then discovered. Or simply killed because he had stepped on someone's foot. Declan’s men were scary as fuck, but they seemed to have taken a liking to him. Almost.

Then there was Mickey.

Mickey. Beautiful Mickey. 

The man that exuded confidence, but would become so small in his boyfriend’s presence. 

Ian knew he shouldn't, but he was already feeling the strong urge to protect him. As dumb as it was, he was sure that Mickey would need him, sooner or later.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

At the moment Ian was looking for Mickey, actually. He was supposed to drive him to see a couple of his brothers and spend there the afternoon. He heard noises coming from one of the rooms upstairs and his training kicked in instantly. The redhead was armed, of course; like everyone working there he was required to keep a weapon on him at any time. But what he was hoping to find was to catch Declan red handed.

He climbed up and the noises became clear. They were the distinct noises that came from a good beating. A voice was screeching, begging; the other wasn't saying much, more like mutterings. What spurred Ian to open the door was that he recognized the voices: the latter was Declan’s.

Mickey was the one in pain.

He shouldn't. He fucking should  _ not _ .

What he should do was waiting for Mickey at the car and and feigning complete indifference to Mickey’s beat up state. Mickey wasn't a proof, Mickey wasn't important to the mission. Ian should just walk away.

He should.

He should go inside. That was what his heart was screaming. Ian didn't let reason take over and opened the door, revealing Declan while he was kicking Mickey against his belly. When he heard the door open, the boss halted his movement and turned his head.

“The fuck do you want, boy?” he said. Ian felt goosebumps on his arms just by being confronted by those menacing grey eyes.

“I…” Ian looked down at Mickey, his blue eyes scared. Embarrassed.

Mickey didn't want to be seen like that, with his shirt torn and completely submitted to his aggressor. It was probably humiliating for him.

“You what,” Declan barked. 

“I, uh, was supposed to drive Mickey…”

“So you went looking for him? What a zealous driver,” Declan wasn't even trying to hide the sarcasm. He was daring Ian to say something back.

Ian remained silent and the boss seemed to accept that. He helped Mickey to stand up, fussing with his hair a bit.

“You may take my man to his retarded brothers,” Declan said. He leaned down to press a kiss to Mickey’s lips. It became hard and messy and Mickey went with. The boss glanced at Ian, and the redhead found it impossible to tear his eyes away from the couple. From Declan’s piercing eyes, their challenge.

Mickey wobbled once his boyfriend let go of him,and risked to fall down. He managed to lean against the nearby wall.

Ian went to help him walk, but Mickey shoved him. Declan had a smirk going on on his face, observing Mickey limping to the door.

“I expect you home by seven, darling, not a minute later,” Declan said. The blue-eyed man nodded, effectively exiting the room.

 

***

 

Mickey sat in the backseat, looking out of the window. The ride was silent and Ian couldn't blame the man. He was bruised,  the shirt was ruined, and from the way he kept clutching at his torso, his ribs had to hurt.

Ian couldn't blame him but he decided on doing something stupid. Again. Maybe even more stupid.

Ian stopped the car, causing Mickey to finally look at him.

“Why the fuck you stop for?” he asked. Well, more like accused.

Ian turned his head to look at him. “We need to stop at my place.”

Mickey's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “And why's that?”

“Because I gotta check up on your ribs, first,” Ian replied, dead serious. “And your eye is swelling up.”

The other man looked away. “‘s nothing…”

“Even so.”

Mickey gnawed on his bottom lip, thinking. “If you think you're gonna earn points with Dec doing this charity shit, you got it totally wrong.”

“Yes, I could guess that,” Ian replied. “I'm not going not tell anyone, but you need to clean up, you really want to go to your brothers like that?”

Mickey scoffed. “Wouldn't be the first time…” he muttered bitterly. But then he looked up at Ian and something he saw in the redhead’s expression changed his idea. “Fuck, alright. You have sad puppy eyes, you know that, Kendall?”

Ian smiled. “It's I- Curtis, Mickey. I know you remember.”

The blue-eyed man couldn't help a small smile to appear on his lips. “Whatever. Let's see your pigsty, then.”

 

***

 

“It's a shitty place, but at least you keep it clean," Mickey commented after having taken a quick look at the surroundings.

“Thanks.” Ian was doing his best with what he had, so he took no offence for the term ‘shitty'. “Sit wherever you like. And take off your shirt.”

“Curtis-"

“I need to check your ribs and I'll lend you one of my shirts, yours even misses buttons,” Ian replied, firmly.

Mickey rolled his eyes but did as he was told, going to sit on the armchair. Ian decided not to dwell on how hot the man was, but to focus on the damages instead.

The redhead crouched in front of him, trying to look as professional as possible (and not like a perv ogling that nice body). The shorter man had several soon-to-be bruises, from his chest to his torso to his abdomen. Plus he had a swollen eye.

Ian also notice a tattoo. It was on Mickey’s heart, the capital letters  _ D.D _ . He wondered if Mickey had done it himself or Declan had forced him.

“I'm gonna see if I got frozen peas or something.”

Ian rummaged through the freezer. He should definitely go grocery shopping one of these days, since exactly one bag of frozen peas was the only available thing.

“Sorry, the freezer is a tad empty. Let's put it on your eye, I guess?” Ian tried on his best apology face and handed the bag to Mickey, who placed it on his eye. Wincing and cursing at the sudden cold against the sensible skin.

Ian chuckled and went back to assess the bruise on the ribs. And, because he didn't know how else to do it, he poked a finger against Mickey’s torso.

“Fuck shit!” the shorter man cursed again. “The fuck, man?!”

“Doesn't feel broken or cracked. Nothing serious,” Ian said. He wanted to look at Mickey’s face, but his eyes, filthy traitors, zeroed on the letters. 

This time Mickey noticed it. “I was a teen. Dec and I have always been together,” he said in a tone of voice that didn't admit further questions. Ian simply nodded, forcing himself not to touch the tattoo, or the rest of Mickey’s body, anyway.

He got up and went to his bedroom, grabbing a decent shirt for Mickey. 

“Hope it’s not too large for you,” he joked, earning the finger from Mickey.

“‘m not that small,” he said, snatching the shirt from Ian's hands. Ian chuckled.

He observed Mickey buttoning up the shirt - _ his shirt _ -, until the man stopped in his movement.

“What happened… what you think you saw…” Mickey began, looking at the button.

Ian replied before the other could add something else. “It's not my place to think anything about it.”

Mickey nodded. “Good.”

“Even if he loved you he'd never raise his hands on you.”

Fuck.

Ian slapped a hand on his mouth, when he realized what he'd just said. Surprisingly, Mickey didn't get angry, but only sighed. “You don't know shit about us.”

“I only know that I wouldn't,” Ian said, very quick, almost in a whisper. He wondered if Mickey had heard him, but it didn't look that way. “So, ready to go? We could stop by the pharmacy, on the way.”

Mickey shook his head and stood up. “No need.”

He kept the bag of peas pressed against his face, anyway. 

Ian wanted to say so much more. Fuck, he wanted to do so much more now that Mickey was alone in his apartment. But the other man was already at the door, opening it, and Ian could do nothing but follow him outside.


	10. Reedport, Oregon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, the end.

_ Reedport, Oregon. _

_ Two years later. _

 

Steve stopped by the mailbox in front of the lawn, to check if they got any mail.

Bills. Nothing strange, nothing dangerous. Only companies sucking hard earned money.

“Hello neighbor!”

He turned turned around to greet Mr Carr, who lived only two houses away from them. The neighbor was out for his daily jogging that basically consisted of starting conversation with whoever had the misfortune of being spotted by the noisy man.

“Good evening to you too, Larry. Things good at home?” Steve politely asked.

“Except for the nagging, sure. Wives, you know.”

“You adore her,” he said, obtaining a shrug from Larry.

“And how's  _ your _ old lady doing?”

Steve scoffed, shaking his head. “You know. One day  _ he _ 's gonna kick your ass if you insist on calling him that.”

Larry laughed heartedly. “Then I'll be sure to save the best steak for him at the next bbq. By the way, Andrea wants to throw one next Thursday and she insists you have to come. No excuses this time.”

“Don't worry, we’ll try our best to be there. You know we're always suckers for Andrea’s dinners.”

Before Larry could add anything else, Steve waved goodbye to the neighbor and went inside his house.

“Honey! I'm hooome!” he called for his ‘old lady’.

“First of all, fuck you,” said a voice that couldn't seem to lose its Chicagoan accent any time soon. Steve looked up to watch his beloved Jack coming down the stairs with his charming swagger. “Secondly, welcome back.”

Jack had always this kind of grumpy appearance, but the way he was smiling at his husband, betrayed his real feelings.

Jack was happy to see Steve. Just like he was to see Jack.

Jack came closer and combed back Steve's red hair with his fingers. “It's getting too long. How the fuck can you even see with these bangs?”

His husband grinned. “You know I keep it long ‘cause you love to have something to hang on to when I go down on you.”

Jack could only chuckle at that. “That may be true, but I'd still prefer it if you didn’t face plant a pole ‘cause you can’t see your surroundings.”

Steve nodded. “Promise you, I'll get an haircut.”

“Good.”

They stared at each other and the redhead knew he could easily lose track of time just by admiring every little detail of his husband’s face. He had a perfect, straight little nose, his lips plump that not even the faint trace of a scar starting from one of the angles of his mouth could make them less kissable; Jack couldn't open his right eye completely, another nasty scar causing his upper eyelid not to move at its corner, but his baby blue eyes were still gorgeous and able to make Steve feel all kind of fluttering in his stomach with just a glance. His beloved had been a broken beauty, but he was now patched up with all the love Steve could give him. 

The moved together in perfect synchrony. Both meeting the other's lips for a chaste, yet so meaningful kiss.

“Ian,” whispered Jack to Steve.

“Mickey,” whispered Steve to Jack.

They might had new identities, but once a day, usually towards its end, they'd say each other's original name. Their little ritual kept them grounded and thankful they still had one another.

During the two-year time they had lived under the Witness Protection Program, Ian Gallagher had become Steve , a federal employee with a desk job, while Mickey Milkovich had become his doting husband Jack, now enrolled in college to try to sort out what he'd like to do in life. At the moment, he was just satisfied to have his beloved home everyday.

They kissed again, this time more passionately, Steve cupping his husband's cheeks in his hands.

It was for simple things, like kissing without fear, or be glad the other half would sleep beside them in bed every night, that they had fought for. Still did.

But they were ready to change identities yet again - _ and again _ \- if that meant be together.

They could be named Steve and Jack, or Cameron and Noel… it didn't fucking matter when they still got to wake up to one another's sleepy face. Every morning. For the rest of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too many spoilers, too much bitterness. Until we won't know anything for sure gallavich related (and I suspect we'll remain in the dark until season 7 ends) I'll take a leave of absence from writing -not reading ofc- Ian x Mickey fanfictions. If this season goes completely to shit, I could even leave the fandom for good, or at least I won't be active in it.  
> It goes without saying that -and I'm so, so very sorry because I even made promises to some and I feel strongly about promises- all prompts are on hold indefinitely, so if the anons who sent them to me want to submit their prompst to some other author, feel free to do so (maybe tell me if you can so if I'll ever go back to writing gallavich I'll know which prompts are still unfulfilled).  
> I'm not one of the best and/or favorite authors here, my fics are not that appreciated or famous in the fandom (and in two cases subjected to heavy negative reactions, so I guess infamous maybe?) and they're all complete now, so you don't lose much. If you want to know more about this multichapter because you're feeling it's missing something, please don't hesitate to send me an ask on tumblr (or here or on my email that I'll give you if you want). For my other multichapters/one shots too, of course. I'm always ready to answer an ask.  
> So, in case I won't publish another gallavich fics, I guess I'll lose some of you? Hope not! But, you know, thank you so much for all your kudos and comments and in one case a Russian translation ( Mary ;) ).  
> I would just like to mention BurnInFlames, SUZYQ717, Elfy_Dwarf, PrettyCalypso, maryellen590, SparkleSpaz101, LuckyShaz, Movielover1862, Violet_Hoang, MilkyMick, GiorginaKane, Misty1987, CarrieLouise, StarryEyedKat. I love all of you, each for different reasons.  
> I still hold a tiny bit of hope for s7 so maybe I'll come back to writing but for now, well, goodbye.  
> Love <3
> 
> my tumblr [JAinsel & the Ships](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/jainsel-and-the-ships)


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